


Liberty

by pensandbirds



Series: Lady Liberty [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Daredevil (Netflix), Daredevil (TV), Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes has secrets even he didn't know about, F/M, Pre-Daredevil S2, Sam Wilson is also the uncle you want, Steve Rogers is the best kind of uncle, There's got to be someone between the street level and world saving superheros, pre-Civil War, winter soldier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 17:58:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6294214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensandbirds/pseuds/pensandbirds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Convinced by her best friend to start a new life in New York City after her grandfather's death, Libby finds herself confronting a world of superheroes and a family curse that she just might find answers for - if she can face the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to halcyon_autumn for being there from the creation of this story, and for wonderful feedback, incredible patience at my never ending fixation on the idea, and for being a fantastic friend that dragged me into this. 
> 
> Also thanks to Katie for the beautiful cover art she created for this work, as well as her feedback and suggestions! 
> 
> Libby wouldn't have lived without the two of you.

To Libby, New York City from the air looked like a silver serving platter. From the descent, she could vaguely see a large billboard proclaiming “Welcome to New York City: Home of Superheroes!”  
“Isn’t it marvelous?” Val, Libby’s best friend, leaned over and murmured.  
Libby grinned. “You think anything associated with New York is the greatest thing on earth.”  
Val flicked her short blond hair over her shoulder. “Just wait. You’re going to love it.”  
“Mm. I think I might prefer the country. Or London, if you’re going to force me to interact with millions of people.”  
“You’re with me,” Val said, coiling her headphones together. “You’re going to see this city the way it should be seen, and you’ll change your mind.” She leaned down to zip her backpack shut.  
Libby looked out the window again. New York was shiny, but it also seemed cold and imposing. Matte gray concrete was interlaced with metal in various states of decay that reflected a spectrum of rust and silver. The gray was occasionally interrupted by colored neon, patches of green parks, safely enclosed in their neat geometric shapes.  
Val nudged her. “Look, Lib, you need a fresh start. And the best place to get that is going to be here.”  
It was true. Libby had left enough pain behind her the last time she left America, and she had left a lot behind in England. Gramps had died last year, and Libby had realized there wasn’t anything tying her to England but memories.  
Memories…there were a lot in America too. Some good, some bad. The bad ones were more recent though, and perhaps that’s why New York looked especially cold. With a shiver, Libby pulled her hoodie around her more securely and tweaked the zipper. She tried to shut out the rush of images that flickered behind her eyes.

Val hailed a cab as they walked out of JFK, and Libby idly watched the crowds of people as they ran to and from their destinations: official looking men speaking sternly into their phones, tourist families trying to wrangle their children together, groups of women already with tropical drinks in their hands, large tote purses, and floppy hats, off on the last of late summer retreats.  
London was also teeming with people, but it hadn’t been nearly this loud or felt nearly this crowded. Libby felt on the verge of being crushed in the sea of bodies.  
As she waited for Val to wrangle with the cabbie, Libby’s eyes caught a newspaper headline: _“Daredevil at it again!”_ and she picked up the paper. The photo was from a grainy security camera, showing a man in a costume, fighting two other men. She scanned the article, taking in only a few details about a drug dealer and how the masked man had left the criminals tied to the fire escape. She studied the costume with idle curiosity; were those horns on his head? _Pushing the name a little far, isn’t it?_ , she thought.  
If the rumors about New York were true, the city almost bred superheroes. Anyone you passed could be hiding superpowers. Anyone could be moonlighting as a costumed crusader. Anyone could have a secret identity. Anyone could be one of _them_ , and you would never know it. But then, Libby thought, she should be used to it. You never knew what secrets people were hiding.  
“Lib! Come on,” Val called from where she was lifting her suitcase into the cab. “What are you looking at?”  
Libby snapped out of her revere and joined her friend.

“Are you sure about this place?”  
“It’s a great apartment, and easy to get to where you’ll be working. It’s a good building. You’ll love it!” Val assured her.  
“Are you sure it’s safe though?”  
“What are you worried about? It’s not like you couldn’t take care of yourself, you know, with your…”  
“I’d rather not have to use that,” Libby said.  
Val sighed. “Look, if you want to figure out your family mystery, this is where you need to be. Pretty much all the resources you could want are here.”  
“The place is called Hell’s Kitchen, Val.”  
“It’s not that bad. It’s just the name of the neighborhood. And you’re on the edge, anyway. No problems at all.”  
The building was huge, and heavy on brickwork. It looked like an old factory that had been converted into living spaces. It was a lot wider than the tiny flat buildings and town houses she was used to, with their bright by neatly colored exteriors and gracious details. It was certainly different from Gramps’ bungalow, where she’d been living for the past few years, with its cheerful green trim and flower boxes that her grandfather had tended so carefully. They were Gran’s flower boxes, but Gramps always said seeing the little shoots was like seeing her smile again, grown new just for him. This apartment building seemed much more industrialized, and much less cozy. Libby wondered if flowers would grow here at all. Could anything grow here, besides in the specially designated parks?  
They hiked up to the sixth floor without seeing anyone. Val checked the key in her hand and then inserted it into the door of 6E.  
Libby gasped and froze in the doorway. The interior of the apartment was beautiful, but simple. The room was decorated in tans, chocolate browns, and blues. In between the windows was an abstract painting of fiery reds and yellows, like a new star forming. She made her way slowly around the room, admiring the kitchen with its new, sleek appliances and storage jars lined up on the counter top. Copper pots hung above the island, which was lined with three chairs, all sporting cushions that matched the living room furniture.  
From the kitchen, she moved down the hall to the spacious bedroom, where the bed was already made up with a fluffy duvet and pillows that made her remember her jet lag. The room was lined with bookshelves and a smart cherry desk with matching chair. The window overlooked the fire escape and the side street below.  
It was gorgeous, but it also felt more like a model apartment, not quite like home. She was almost afraid to touch anything. “How much does his place cost, anyway? I’m not going to be making that much,” she asked as she made her way back to the living room.  
Val waved her hand unconcernedly. “The landlady isn’t expecting any rent. You’re actually helping her out. Kind of like long term apartment sitting.”  
“What?” Libby gaped. “How did you manage to find that? You sure it’s not a scam?”  
Val’s smile was suddenly impish. “Oh, didn’t I mention? I’m the landlady.”  
Libby looked around again. “You…bought…an apartment? A New York City apartment?”  
“Well, that’s what the deed says. So do the receipts for all the furniture and everything. And since this job is going to have me everywhere, I need someone to take care of it while I’ll be gone.”  
_“Valyeria!”_  
Val grinned. “It’ll be yours when I’m gone, but consider watching out for it your rent. Besides, you’re hopeless at decorating, you know that, and I wanted a _nice_ couch bed that I could actually sleep on.”  
“You are not sleeping on the couch in an apartment you own; I’ll do that when you’re here.”  
“You do realize I bought this couch with a bed specifically for me?”  
Libby reactively smacked her friend’s shoulder. “I’m paying for utilities and everything else then. Not even joking, Val, it’s too much.”  
Val rubbed her shoulder, her grin growing. “Deal. And if this bruises and I can’t wear my little black dress tonight because of it, dessert is on you, Liberty. For like, a year. ”  
“Oh gosh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to be that hard” Libby bit her lip, her forehead creasing.  
Val shrugged it off; she was used to Libby’s teasing shoulder smacks. “It’s fine. Oh, and I was joking about the couch bed. It’s a two bedroom. Please. I’m not sleeping on a couch bed for even a few days a month.”  
Libby sat on the edge of the couch, bouncing a little on the cushioned surface. “I’m taking it then that you’re not going to stay in New York very much then?”  
Val draped herself over the armrest of the armchair. “As much as I’d like to, I don’t think I’ll be here permanently. This new job is going to have me going everywhere.”  
“What is this job again?”  
Val blew out a gust of air, her eyes fixated on the ceiling. “Consulting. Having Russian as my native language is a huge asset, but that’s only part of it. Understanding the people and the business culture of the country is even more important. With my…family background, there’s a little bit of weight to having me involved.”  
Libby looked concerned at her friend. “They want you because of your family contacts?”  
Val’s face went dark. “No. But I grew up around that kind of mentality. I know how to work with it. To a lot of people that’s a very valuable skill.”  
Libby knew better than to press the issue. Valyeria Petrikova avoided talking about her family, though occasionally she would offer some light-hearted tidbit about her mother or her closest brother, Dmitri. But Libby had done her research after she had first met Val at university and heard the hints of shadowy rumors that swirled around the name Petrikov from European classmates. Libby had discovered that most of the rumor was simply highly sensationalized truth and most of the more outrageous stories were falsified, but the basic facts proved to be true, Val had confirmed.  
“They say my father isn’t doing well,” Val suddenly said to the room at large, still draped over the arm of the couch and looking at the ceiling.  
Libby stayed silent. Time had taught her that pushing Val was not the way to go.  
“My brother Alexsi took over the business about a year ago, and everything indicates things are booming. I’m sure Father was pleased.”  
Libby licked her lips, wondering if she dared ask. “Have you…spoken to any of them recently?”  
Val sat up quickly, pulling herself upright and onto her feet with controlled grace. “No, and I won’t.” Her chin became a bit more pointed and her eyes hardened. “We probably need to go stock your kitchen, come on.” The slight residual Russian accent that had crept into her voice when she spoke of her family was gone, replaced with her adopted New England one.  
Libby stood as well; the conversation was over. “Well, any ideas for some food now before we stock up? I’m starving.”  
Val sighed, resuming her normal demeanor. “Didn’t you buy a sandwich when we got off the subway? That was only, what, an hour ago?”  
Libby shrugged. “Do you want my metabolism to kill me?”  
Val rolled her eyes, but they did stop at another deli before they headed to the grocery store. 

Pigeons scattered as they made their way across the street. In contrast to her normal London neighborhoods, New York seemed intent on sensory overload. Sounds, colors, lights, and smells boiled over everywhere, but most people seemed perfectly oblivious to them. Libby looked up at a large advertisement promoting a gym: “Want BULK like HULK?” was emblazoned across it in large bright letters, with smaller text underneath promising to make its customers comparable to the “superheroes of New York.”  
“Are people still infatuated with them?” she asked Val.  
Val glanced up at the advertisement. “Well, there was that whole thing in DC, and aliens in New York before that, and who knows what else by now. People get excited by it. Super sells.” She glanced up and down the street, and then turned the corner quickly.  
“It just doesn’t seem to right to go shouting about who they are though,” Libby said thoughtfully, following Val. “I mean, if they’re really trying to do the right thing, why is Tony Stark out there telling everyone that he made himself a superhero?”  
Val shrugged. “They’re just trying to keep people safe.”  
Libby crumpled up the wrapper from her sandwich, looking around for a trash can. “Yes, but there’s a right way and a wrong way to do that. Using themselves to sell stuff just doesn’t seem right. If you’re going to be some kind of heroes, you should probably actually be out there making a difference, not just being a figurehead and showing up when the aliens do—“  
She almost didn’t see the gunman until it was too late.  
“Down!” she screamed, pushing Val to the ground as the shot went off. They both hit the sidewalk hard, and Libby could have sworn she heard the bullet whiz over their heads.  
When the bullet hit the building behind them, Libby looked up. The gunman was running in the opposite direction, his face masked by a black hoodie. A crumpled paper fell from his hand as he jammed the gun into his waistband.  
“Stay there!” she called behind her to Val, who was starting to gingerly pull herself off the ground.  
“Libby, wait!” she heard her best friend call after her, but Libby was already chasing after the assailant and dialing the police. When the operator picked up, she gave her location as she ran, dodging through alleys and over garbage heaps.  
The man looked over his shoulder, surprised that she was so close and gaining on him. For a moment, she lost sight of him. Just when she thought that she had lost him, but he jumped out from around the corner aiming a blow for her head. Libby dodged, avoiding his fists. Adrenaline shot through her and she barreled at him, all her strength gathering into her muscles. Her mind crystal clear, she saw his sloppy punches before they got close. She aimed a punch to his jaw and then swung her right fist towards his temple. She missed, but her fist collided with his ear enough to make him recoil and start running again. She picked up the chase.  
She hadn’t hit anyone like that, probably ever. As she ran, the back of her mind was abuzz with emotion, panic and something else whirling through her mind. She wasn’t supposed to use that; how many times had she been told not to use that power?  
He skittered to a stop at the end of an alley. Libby pulled herself up behind a dumpster quickly, trying to stay out of shooting range. She dialed her phone again and gave her new location as best she could to the dispatcher.  
“We’ve got officers about a block away, so just hang on,” the dispatcher said reassuringly.  
Suddenly, Val came running around the corner, her eyes scanning the scene.  
“Val, no, stop!” Libby said, but Val didn’t hear her.  
_“Chto eto? Kto ty?”_ Val spat at the gunman, clutching the paper he had dropped. _“Poetumu u vas yest’ simvol sem’ya Petrikov?”_  
She and the gunman were staring at each other. His features contorted at the sight of her, twisting into a sneer. _“Predatel,”_ he hissed, raising his weapon. Val’s eyes hardened and she bared her teeth like a wild cat about to pounce.  
“Drop your weapon!” Two police officers rounded the corner, guns drawn.  
Libby ran forward and yanked Val out of the way by the wrist. “What do you think you’re doing?” she whispered fiercely.  
Val didn’t answer. Libby looked down at the paper, still in Val’s hand. Before Val crumpled it and stashed it in her coat, Libby caught sight of some sort of symbol.  
One of the officers had the gunman in handcuffs, and the other was coming to speak to the two of them. They both gave initial reports, and the officer told them they would be contacted for further statements.  
Both slightly shaken, they started to walk back to the new apartment.  
“What did he say to you?” she finally asked Val.  
Val crossed her arms in front of her. “ _Predatel_ – traitor.”  
“What?”  
“It means traitor, betrayer, Judas. In Russian.”  
“Yes, I understand what the word means. Why would he call you that?”  
Val simply shrugged, and refused to say another word as they walked. She barricaded herself in her room as soon as they got back to the apartment, and refused to come out for the rest of the night. Libby thought she heard Val speaking rapid Russian into the phone when she walked by, but when she knocked on the door, Val’s voice stopped.  
Deciding to let it rest for the night, Libby went to get ready for bed. Val’s mysterious behavior concerned her, and wild scenarios chased each other in her head as she brushed her teeth. As she settled down in the softness of the sheets, enveloped by the warm duvet, Libby couldn’t shake the image of the man and his enraged look from her mind. This wasn’t a random attack at all; there had been too much hatred in his eyes. She lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling for hours, worried about who had sent a gunman to take out the Petrikov prodigal.  
When she finally did fall asleep, it was the feeling of her fist against the gunman’s face that came to her in the last moments of consciousness. She could still feel the way the adrenaline electrified her blood, and the way her muscles sang. She finally identified the feeling that had mingled with panic as she gave chase: elation. Despite all of the warnings throughout her life, the precautions that had turned into habits, somewhere in the back of her mind she understood that using the power behind it had felt, for that moment, incredibly right.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Libby starts her new life in New York, but Val may have someone to help with Libby's family mystery.

Val was wrong. It was _not_ easy to get from the apartment to Libby’s work.  
“You forgot a connection, Val. How were you so far off?” Libby muttered as she studied the subway map again. The Tube was relatively straightforward; even with the Thames running through London, you still had a cohesive city. New York, however, felt like a jumble of boroughs and neighborhoods, haphazardly sprawled across two rivers and several islands.  
With some clipped directions from a man on the subway and after about a half hour of wandering around, Libby finally found the capital building. She shook her head and made a mental note to hassle Val about her poor directions, whenever she came back from where her new job had sent her a week after they had arrived in the city. Though they had done plenty of exploring in that week, Libby still felt turned around on the subway.  
The building itself was charming, made of white stone in a colonial style, standing out among the modern glass and steel around it. Steep concrete steps ushered her up through impressive columns as Libby made her way to the door.  
The hum of people helped calm her a little, the accents the only thing to differentiate her old job from this new one. A large double staircase curved towards the center of the room and conversation echoed off the vaulted ceiling.  
After consulting the security desk, Libby finally reached the office of Councilman Mulligan and pushed open the door. A young woman with curly brown hair looked up from behind a wooden desk, dark eyes shining.  
“Hi,” Libby said, swallowing quickly as she realized how dry her mouth was. “I’m Libby, I start here today.”  
The curly haired woman’s face lit up. “Oh! You’re the new girl!” She grinned. “I’m Nadia Piripi. I’m so glad you’re here, things were getting out of hand!”  
Being around Nadia helped Libby relax. She was so bubbly, and her smile was infectious. She took Libby on a tour of the office (she spoke so fast that by the end, Libby still wasn’t quite sure where everything was), and introduced her to some of their coworkers. When they made it back to Nadia’s desk, she checked her watch.  
“Well, the boss won’t get back until after lunch, so we won’t get you started just yet. Tell me about yourself, you haven’t said much and I’m curious.”  
They ended up chatting for most of the time, getting acquainted. Libby learned that Nadia was a part time graduate student at NYU, a prominent fashion blogger, and an avid golfer. Libby told her about London, getting lost on the way to work that day, and asked about the best places to eat in the city. Soon, they were laughing together as if they’d known each other for years.  
Nadia was right in the middle of a hilarious story about the ferry to Ellis Island when the door to the office burst open, and a scowling middle aged man walked in. Nadia was suddenly sitting upright, focused. “Welcome back, Mr. Mulligan, sir.”  
Mr. Mulligan looked dismissively at her, and then caught sight of Libby. “Nadia, how many times have I told you, this is a workplace, not a social occasion?”  
Libby stood and extended her hand. “I’m Libby, sir, the new hire.”  
He looked her over, examining her from the tip of his nose, but didn’t shake her hand. “Come into my office, then, where you should be.”  
She followed him, glancing back at Nadia, whose attention was turned down to the computer screen in front of her again.  
Mulligan’s office was architecturally lavish, but all the equipment and decorations were on the extreme utilitarian side, clashing with the beautiful grandiose of the room. “Sit,” he ordered, settling himself into the black leather chair behind the desk. Libby took the chair opposite him, a hard one made of dark wood.  
“So, you’re the new hire,” he said, looking at a file on his desk instead of her. “Education? Where were you last working? Why did they get rid of you?”  
His brusque tone took Libby aback. “Educated at Surry, politics with English literature.”  
“What is that, some kind of little community college in the Midwest?”  
Libby felt her defenses rising. “It’s one of the best universities in England. After university, I was employed with the Greater London Authority, Office for Policing and Crime, working with the Advisor for Crime Prevention. My grandfather died last year, and I decided it was time for a change.”  
Mulligan had thrown the file aside and seemed to have lost interest in listening. “I really don’t have time for sob stories. talk to Nadia to train you in your secretary duties. I’m not expecting much, that’s why we have two of you. Just try not to rock the boat too much. We’re keeping things the same here. Just look pretty and answer the phones and whatever else Nadine tells you to do.” Before Libby could correct him, he looked up at the clock. “You have a half hour for lunch, now. Go.”  
Obviously and abruptly dismissed, Libby left the room. She could feel her temper steaming underneath her skin, her muscles twitching. 

Libby collected her lunch and scanned the courtyard for a space to eat. Nadia waved her over to eat lunch with a group gathered around a few benches in the late summer sun, and Libby joined them gratefully.  
“So how’s the city treating you?” Nadia asked, readjusting the heels she wore easily that Libby was sure would have killed her own feet in about an hour.  
Libby shrugged. “It’s different. It’s a lot more confusing to get around.”  
Her coworkers laughed lightly.  
“Where are you living?” one of the guys asked. Jose, Libby remembered, Jose Miranda. Junior press secretary. Puerto Rican, if Libby had to guess. The food in front of him was homemade and looked delicious, with rice, vegetables, and some kind of meat and sauce that smelled heavenly.  
“Hell’s Kitchen,” Libby answered.  
“The Kitchen?” Jose said, incredulous. “All the way up there?”  
“Have you seen Daredevil yet?” Mark (Mark Covington, Libby reminded herself) leaned forward, his dark eyes shining. He had introduced himself as a graphic designer, but from his height and the size of his hands, as well as the Celtics keychain hanging from the keys in his pocket, Libby was sure his heart, and his weekends, were about playing basketball.  
“Who?” Libby asked. The faces around her looked shocked. “Is that…is that a show or something?”  
Jose threw himself back in his seat. “Daredevil? You’ve never heard of him?”  
The name triggered something. “Was there a newspaper article about him recently or something?”  
“Yeah, he was in the paper last week; they caught him doing his thing on a security camera, which is really rare,” Nadia said, sighing in admiration.  
“What’s his thing?” Libby asked, her curiosity peaked.  
Mark sat forward, excitement splashed across his face. “He’s a superhero.”  
“No, he’s more of a vigilante,” Jose said. “If you’re being technical.”  
“Man, he’s a superhero, and he’s legit,” Mark said. “He’s kind of the protector of Hell’s Kitchen. He’s basically a freaking ninja, I saw video of him once. He runs around in one of those super suits, and he takes out bad guys. Everyone used to think he was a criminal, that he killed cops and stuff, but he actually exposed the real criminal mastermind and put him in jail.”  
“He was probably just Captain America in a different suit,” Jose said. “Or maybe that one guy, what’s his name – Hawkeye. Just without the arrows.”  
“That definitely wasn’t Captain America, they look totally different!” Nadia laughed. “The Captain is much…bigger.” She stuttered and blushed.  
“Yeah, yeah, we all know you’re a Cap fangirl,” Mark teased.  
Libby interrupted before Nadia could engage him in a full banter war. “So this Daredevil guy, he just runs around beating up bad guys? Is the area that unsafe that it has its own vigilante?”  
“Well, there have been a lot of kidnappings lately,” Nadia said thoughtfully. “But on the whole, if you stay out of the really bad areas and try not to be out too late, it’s all right. It’s actually gotten a lot safer recently.”  
“Yeah, Daredevil doesn’t just beat people up, he’s taken down whole crime organizations,” Jose said. “My cousin’s a cop. He says this guy has really helped tackle some of their biggest issues. He’s saved people, caught gang leaders, and he even exposed dirty cops. Basically the stuff the Avengers do, but more…local.”  
“Yeah, they just picked him up at the farmer’s market,” Mark said sarcastically. “Nah, man, I don’t think he’s got superpowers necessarily. I mean, he’s no Captain America, as Nadia has reminded us.” Nadia went scarlet again. “He’s just awesome, that’s all.”  
“Who says it has to be a he at all?” Nadia shot back. “It could be that other Avenger, Black Widow. She could just have her hair up.”  
To Libby, it sounded like this city was crawling with superheroes. The idea simultaneously made her want to scream, roll her eyes, and catch sight of one of these spectacles. Everyone seemed to be so in awe of them, but a voice in the back of her head whispered a warning about superheroes from the past: they’re easy to manipulate into what someone else wants them to be.  
The others continued to talk about what they knew or rumors they had heard (Libby had a hard time keeping up with which was what) about the Avengers or Daredevil. Libby simply listened. She hadn’t paid much attention to the stories about superheroes while she had been living in England; it had just seemed like fairy tales. She’d been on holiday in the Lake District with Gramps when one of the Avengers had landed in Greenwich. But apparently here, these were common occurrences. Stories were exchanged, argued over, accepted, and dismissed as obvious falsities. Despite her reservations about them, Libby had to admit they were entertaining. But the far better feeling was not being alone in this cold city.

Libby made her way home easier than she had made it to the office, despite her mind being preoccupied thinking about the job. It felt like a step down from her job in London, where she had actually felt valued and productive. Starting to wonder whether she had made a mistake in moving, she nearly didn’t notice the light coming from under her front door. Cautiously, she opened the door, every muscle in her body tensing.  
Softly, she slid in through the space she had made and stopped in the entry way, listening. Soft music was playing and she could smell something cooking. But she laughed when she heard the voice singing along to the radio.  
“Valyeria Petrikova, you could tell me when to expect you,” Libby announced.  
Val nearly ran into her as she turned the corner. She gripped Libby in a tight hug, and started chatting at a million miles a minute. “How’s work? How’s the city? Do you love it yet? You have to love it. Are you hungry? Have you—“  
Libby laughed and cut in to answer. “You didn’t say when you would be back, I wasn’t expecting you for weeks! Work’s fine – well, it’s not really fine, but it’ll do for now - you were wrong about how close it was though – and it’s good to see you. What are you cooking?”  
It was pork _pelmeni_ , Val’s favorite dish from her homeland, one that she used to make regularly at university (and that Libby had always eaten with enthusiasm). Val had even remembered to double the recipe for Libby’s quicksilver metabolism.  
They sat down to eat and catch up, though Val avoided questions about her new job, besides saying it had taken her to New Mexico for a bit.  
“But I’m back now,” she grinned. “And I’ve got something to help you out with your family mystery.”  
Libby sat up straight. In all the whirlwind of moving, she hadn’t done much looking into her family curse.  
She remembered her mother chastising her father for calling it a curse in the first place, saying he would make Libby afraid of herself. There was no getting around it though; Libby, like her father, had strangely modified genes that made them stronger than most people, have a faster metabolism and healing time, and other enhanced physiology. Libby’s father had spent his life trying to decipher their genes, but he had never been sure how they had gotten them in the first place.  
But now, Libby might find answers, might be able to prove her father’s most likely theory. “What have you got?”  
Val twirled her fork. “A contact. We’re having breakfast with an old friend of mine tomorrow. She used to babysit me, back in Russia. She was connected with my father’s work, but she was nice. Her name is…well, now she goes by Natasha Romanoff. Don’t worry. She’s great; she’s the one that helped me get out of there. And she has connections that should help you.”  
Libby was surprised. “You kept in contact with someone from there?”  
“Just Nat. Well, it’s more of she kept track of me than anything else.”  
Suddenly feeling like she had to move, Libby stood and walked to the window. Outside, the sky was darkening, which meant the city was starting to glow. Lights in various colors and brightnesses contrasted with the velvety darkness above.  
Tomorrow, she could have some answers to the questions that had evaded both Libby and her father for decades. She might finally be closer to understanding the man that this curse surely had originated with.

 

The next morning, Val was already at the mirror when Libby woke up.  
“I’m almost afraid to ask what that shade of red is called, because I’m sure it’ll have the word ‘blood’ in it,” she said jokingly.  
Val grinned and touched the bright red color to her lips again. “You better hurry up, we’re meeting Nat in forty five minutes, and we have to get down there.”  
Libby flipped her hairbrush in her hand. “Are you sure this Natasha is going to be able to help?”  
Val was finished with her lips, and she leaned against the door frame. “Trust me Lib, she’s going to be able to help. She has contacts all over. She used to be a KGB assassin, and gathering information has kind of become her new thing.”  
“We’re meeting an ex-assassin?”  
Val rolled her eyes at the look on Libby’s face. “To be honest, what she was wasn’t really her fault. Ever heard of the old Soviet Red Room?”  
Libby hadn’t, so Val filled her in on what she knew of the notorious and cloudy history of the elite Russian assassin academy. According to Val, there was debate on whether it was just a physical training facility or if something more sinister had occurred there. “I don’t know for sure, and Nat would never give me straight answers, but…I know she can’t remember a lot of things from her childhood. It’s all just kind of gone,” Val said.  
Still not necessarily feeling better about meeting this Natasha Romanoff, Libby pulled her brown hair back into a ponytail. “How much did you tell her about me?”  
“Enough.” At Libby’s sideways look, she clarified: “She doesn’t know about your…abilities, just who you’re looking for. And I only told her good things about you personally.” She checked her watch. “Hurry up,” she said as she sailed out of the bathroom.  
When they met up with Natasha at the cafe, she was already seated and starting on coffee. She had taken a table in the back and positioned herself so she could see the entirety room, and Val quickly sat next to her, leaving Libby to sit with her back to the rest of the place—not her ideal.  
Val and Natasha caught up as they ordered (there was a lot of talk about something that happened in Italy with Val, and Natasha mentioned something in Russian – Libby thought she caught something about spiders - that made Val laugh so hard she had tears leaking out of her eyes), and then Natasha turned to Libby.  
“So you’re looking for Sergeant Barnes then?”  
“Bucky Barnes, yes. He’s my biological grandfather.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Libby and Val look for - and reveal - some important information in Libby's family secret. A familiar face may or may not be helpful.

On a cold, rainy day in 1943, Elaine Cosgrove was working in a bookshop. With the war on, there wasn’t much business, and occasionally she thought about abandoning shop keeping to join the war effort in a little more earnest. Other girls her age, the ones she had gone to school with, were working as nurses, or in the munitions manufacturing plants, and one or two were even giving shows to the soldiers.

Elaine didn’t mind the bookshop; it was warm, and cosy with its towering stacks and winding corners. Dark paneling created shadowy corners, other worlds that seemed far away from air raid drills and rationing. Of course, those never disappeared. But still, she felt a little guilty that she was working a cushy job while the boys were out there dying.

By the time she closed up the shop that particular rainy day, though, she stopped wishing to be somewhere else.

When the solider entered the shop, the bell chiming its small tinny sound, his hair was tousled and dark with a few rain drops scattered in the thick waves. There was something mischievous about his eyes, Elaine thought, like he was used to playing pranks and laughing. His uniform was immaculate, but he wore it in an almost casual way, like it was a natural extension of his skin.

He approached the counter without looking at the shelves, a sure smile flashing across his face.

“Can I help you?” she asked demurely, trying to act like she hadn’t been paying much attention.

“I’m looking for a book,” he said. His American accent didn’t surprise her, but if she had to guess, he sounded like he was from New York.

Elaine sighed. It always seemed that Yanks were coming in simply to flirt, not to buy books. She’d heard this line time and time again. “What kind of book?”

He rested his elbows on the counter, spinning his hat in his hand. “I’m not sure. See, it’s for my best friend’s birthday. He’s got the bark of a Rottweiler…and, well, I guess his bite would be like that too, now. He used to be a tiny little kid and then - anyway. He’s got himself into something in Germany, even though I told the kid to stay home, but, well, he wouldn’t listen to me.”

“You’re getting a book for your best friend… who’s fighting in the war?”

The soldier nodded. “Preferably something that’s going to get him to go home.”

Elaine looked at him straight in the eye. “Why don’t you just get him some ammunition or something that’s going to help him stay alive?”

The soldier’s eyes twinkled. “He’s got all of that he can get. He can pretty much get whatever he needs from the army. He’s a captain, see.”

Elaine found herself unable to look away; something about the soldier’s dark eyes was captivating. “Well, let’s see what we can find then.” She led him back through the narrow  shelves that forced them to walk in a line. He stayed close behind.

“I’m Bucky, by the way,” he said, his head practically by her ear. “Bucky Barnes.”

“Elaine Cosgrove,” she replied. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Elaine,” he said, like he wanted to preserve the way she said it, like he wanted to savor it. “That’s pretty.”

She didn’t reply; she had reached the shelf she wanted. “Here. Hemmingway, _A Farewell to Arms_.” She took the book of the shelf. “It’s about…”

“Yeah, I really liked this one,” Bucky said, turning the paperback over in his hands, examining the cover. He thumbed through it with an expression of reverence, and Elaine thought that maybe, this soldier wasn’t like other Yanks. His thumb shook a little bit. Elaine looked away before he could tell she had seen.

They spent the rest of the rainy afternoon in the back corner of the shop, discussing literature and the war. He told her that he was on leave for injuries, and she told him about her feeling that she wasn’t doing her part in the war effort. Soon, they were laughing like old friends. He finally left, hours later, and she stopped him just as he opened the door. “Wait! That gift for your friend!”

Bucky grinned. “Steve’s birthday is in July. It was already late.”

 

***

 

Libby fiddled with her napkin. Gran had always told her story with words that seemed gilded in light, a charming film spun purely from her descriptions. Libby didn’t have that touch and she knew she wasn’t doing the story justice. In any case, Natasha didn’t seem like the type to be too fussed with how the story was told; she just needed the information. “He started coming by the shop every day. Soon, they were pretty much going steady. When he found out he was being shipped back…well. They were planning on getting married as soon as the war ended, but it was a war after all, and that last night…well, one thing led to another. She didn’t find out she was pregnant until a month after he left. Before she could write to tell him, she read in the papers he was dead.

“When Dad was a year old, she married my Gramps, who raised Dad like his own. But Gran told him about his biological father, and when he was older, dad wanted to know more about him. He couldn’t find much. But…there have been some things… we need to.”

Natasha lowered her water. “Well, that was a little…unexpected.”

Libby looked at Val. “I thought you told her?”

Val shrugged. “I just told her you were looking for him, not why.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “This changes things.”

“In what way?”

The waitress brought their meals, and Natasha arranged her face instantly into carefree and smiling as she thanked her. The moment the waitress was gone, however, Natasha’s eyes narrowed again.

“What do you know?” she asked, fork poised over eggs.

Libby was nonplussed. “What do you mean?”

“There has to be some reason you would spend so long looking for this man when it sounds like you replaced his role in the family. Maybe I could see why your father would want to find him, but I don’t understand why you do. Why is finding him so important to you?”

Libby watched the older woman’s face, their eyes locked. It was a secret Libby had told almost no one, a secret that she was sure had put her parents in their graves, and because of that, one she never wanted to utter. “My father was a scientist,” she started slowly, “His focus was enhanced genetics. He discovered at university that the weird strength he had always had, the strange way he healed so quickly, everything…it was due to some kind of enhanced genes. So he dedicated his life to studying them, trying to understand. He used his own, and later mine, as his study focus. He found correlations with the work of another scientist—Erickson, no Eckle—“

“Erskine?”

“Yeah, that’s it. How did you—“

Leaning back in her seat, Natasha crossed her arms and pursed her lips together.  “I was just going to tell you that Barnes was dead, maybe fill in a few unimportant details. But…granddaughter…and super soldier genes…”

The phrase _super soldier genes_ was setting off alarms in Libby’s head, but she had something else that needed to be addressed first.  “You were going to lie to me?”

Natasha continued eating her pancakes with an easy grace. “Yes.”

The stark honesty surprised Libby. “Why?”

“Because it’s sensitive, confidential information. So I can’t give you anything on Bucky Barnes. However, a Dr. Henry Barnes, that’s a different story. There’s a file… I came across it at one point. Left over from before everything went digital; someone must have thought it wasn’t important enough to destroy the paper copy. But I do remember the name, and that it was from the 70s or 80s. That would be right?” Her eyes were narrowed.

Libby sat up straight. “Where?”

Natasha smiled. “No where you can get it.” She picked at her eggs again.

Val stepped in. “What’s in this file, Nat?”

Natasha looked at Val closely, as if trying to read her thoughts. “The doctor was doing some serious breakthrough genetics studies. SHIELD was ready to pick him up, get his help in their own research. They had enough interest in him that there was an investigation into his death.”

Libby’s head was buzzing. Somewhere, in this mysterious file, was answers. “Is there any way we can get that information? It could clear up a lot.”

Nat shook her head. “No. It’s highly classified. It took me weeks to request to see it, and that was back when SHIELD was actually operational.”

Libby slumped in her chair. Bureaucracy and a defunct organization –the great obstacles keeping her from learning about the family curse.

Natasha checked her watch. “I’ve got to go, I’m going to be late meeting Steve. And I’ve got something very important to talk to him about.” She took a long, hard look at Libby, who met her eyes, unblinking. Libby would have trusted Natasha to some extent because she trusted Val, but in that look, Libby felt she might just trust her on her own; Natasha’s honesty and something in her eyes said that despite her hard exterior, she had a shrewd mind, and maybe somewhere in there, a good heart.

She half smiled at Libby. “You should meet Steve. I think you’d hit it off.” She studied Libby for another moment, and then straightened her coat. “ _Derzhis' podal'she ot nepriyatnostey, Valyeria_ ,” she shot quickly at Val.

“I’ll stay out of trouble as much as you will, Nat,” Val grinned back.

“Ah, _malyutka._ Always the joker, _takoy zabavnyy._ ” Sweeping her long red hair behind her, she scanned the room. “I’ve got the bill. Look out for yourselves.” She gave a final smirking half smile, and left.

“Steve, her boyfriend?” Libby asked as Natasha went through the door of the restaurant.

Val laughed so hard she snorted into her waffles and bacon. “No, Steve, as in Steve Rogers. Captain America?” she said to Libby’s blank face.

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, Nat’s an Avenger.”

Libby stared, setting her fork of hash browns down with a clack. “You’re joking.”

“Nope. She’s the Black Widow. I mean, you don’t see her on half the posters because she’s no Stark; she’s not out there looking for attention. Plus, you know, _patriarchy._ ” She pushed back from the table and placed her napkin on top of her left over ketchup.

“You were babysat by an Avenger?” Libby asked as they made their way to the door.

“No, I was babysat by one of Russia’s most elite spies.”

Libby whistled low. “What were you doing that warranted that?”

Val snorted as she pushed open the door and blinked at the bright sunlight. “The better question is, what was Nat doing that warranted watching a kid? Well, I mean, she was playing double agent at the time. I think. So there’s that. But it’s not like I was going to say anything. I liked her more than the other minders and tutors I had at home while my brothers were off at boarding school. She didn’t treat me like a porcelain princess, but she also didn’t treat me like a soldier.” The ghost of a mixture of annoyance and pain flitted across Val’s face. She pulled out her phone and checked the time. “It’s getting late, you better get to work.”

She was right. “What are you doing all day?” Libby asked as they descended into the subway.

“I’m not entirely sure. I’ve got to meet with someone for work. Might see if Nat’s around later; it’d be good to catch up more. She might know something about my brothers and the business.” A frown creased across Val’s face. To Libby, the last sentence sounded more like a slipped out thought than an intentional statement.

This was the most that Libby had ever heard Val mention her family at one time since they had had their first heart-to-heart and become best friends at uni. This couldn’t be good. “Is everything okay, Val? With you and your family? I mean, is everything how it normally is?” Libby asked, concerned.

Val ignored her, pretending to be engrossed in checking the subway schedule. “My train is this way. I’ll see you tonight, probably!” And she was off.

Libby stood still for a moment in the dim light watching her best friend disappear into an underground river of people, wondering what Val wasn’t telling her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Libby's family curse gets the best of her as she jumps into a compromising situation trying to do good.

Two weeks later, work at the councilman’s office was still making Libby want to shoot laser beams at people out of her eyes.

Mulligan definitely had a boys’ club mentality, and usually was either told Nadia and Libby they were talking too much or that the emotional levels that women gave off interfered with his work. In an effort to keep her pent up frustration from exploding, Libby had found a gym to go to every day after work. Worry about her best friend wasn’t helping either. Val had been in and out, and though she hadn’t said anything more about her family, Libby had seen her obsessively checking Russian news sites, her face tight and hard.

Today, Val was out again, and the apartment would be empty. A particularly teeth grinding tirade from Mulligan had made it necessary for Libby to run about twenty miles that night on the treadmill. The workout was just enough that it took the edge off her rage, and she was finally making her way home, trying to remind herself that snapping back tomorrow would not be wise.

As if to add to her inconveniences, the gargled automated voice broke through the subway intercom system. Libby groaned as the automated voice announced that her stop was closed and patrons would need to exit at the next stop. She gathered up her gym bag and satchel and stretched. The subway train pulled to a stop, and she steadied herself with the pole next to her, hands scraping against the chipping paint. The station was deserted, and she was the only one to step off the train. The doors hissed closed behind her and the train took off again, whispering and clunking as it made its way into the dark tunnel.

Her watch said 11:30 pm, and Libby knew she was out later than she should be. At this rate, she wouldn’t get home until midnight and in bed until after one. Lack of sleep was going to make the mindless work tomorrow even more tedious.

The streets were as dark and quiet as a New York street could be. Libby walked briskly, keeping a grip on her bag and trying not to look down alleys. She wasn’t frightened, no, but the last thing she wanted was something making her even later than she was.

She readjusted her ponytail as she walked, pulling the small hairs that had broken free with her run back into the whole as best she could. Normally, she wouldn’t have worked that hard, especially in public, but the boredom of the desk job was getting to her and she had to feel like she was doing something productive in some aspect of her life.

The scream brought Libby out of her grumbling thoughts. It had sounded close, and high pitched – a woman for sure. Something cut it off quickly. Libby stopped walking and listened for any further sound, but she didn’t hear anything.

She walked a few feet more so she could see down the nearest alley. It was seemingly a normal trash can lined, graffitied space, but down at the end, she thought she saw shadows moving.

_It’s a raccoon or a rat or something,_ she tried to tell herself, but some gut instinct told her it wasn’t.

Libby started to follow the shadows ahead of her at a safe distance, lambasting herself the entire time. _This is stupid,_ she thought, _it’s probably just a drunk girl and her boyfriend going home. It’s probably nothing and they’re going to think you’re some creep and call the cops._

Still, she followed. Some instinct told her it was the right thing to do. They had passed nearly all of the apartment buildings in the area; something had to be wrong.

As the man and woman reached a halo of streetlight, Libby _knew_ something was off. The man wasn’t so much supporting the young woman as he was dragging her. There was definitely something wrong here.

Libby stashed her bags behind a dumpster, suddenly glad she was wearing dark blue leggings and hoodie; she would blend into the night more. She pulled her hood up as far as she could over her face, and crept forward.

At the edge of the light from the street, the man and the woman were still struggling. The man was tall and broad; Libby would have guessed he worked in some kind of job that required heavy lifting, from the state of his bulging muscles. The woman was much smaller; Asian,  if Libby had to guess. Her hair was long and dark, and a mess from where the man was continually gripping it and regripping it as she struggled.

“Stop—moving!” he growled, backhanding her across the face. The woman cried out in pain.

Libby’s blood boiled.  Before she could think about what she was doing, she was running, a navy blue streak, right at them.

She barreled into the man before he could recognized what was happening. He hit the pavement, hard, and she actually heard the crack of his head on the surface. She fumbled her way off of him and stood, striking what she thought must be a fighting stance, elbows tucked in and knees slightly bent. The woman fell to the ground and crawled out of the way of the fight, curling against the side of the alley.

The same rush of adrenaline that had filled her when she and Val had almost been shot coursed again through Libby’s veins. All she could think of was hurting the man as much as she possibly could, taking him down so that the young woman could go free.

She pummeled every inch of him she could reach, fists slamming against his jaw and stomach. He lashed out at her, and she barely ducked out of the way of his huge fists. “Run, get out of here,” she barked to the young woman, who was still gasping and looking at the scene in horror. “What are you still doing here?”

She turned back to the fight, but she had waited too long. The man aimed a punch to her stomach, and she doubled over. He kicked her legs out from under her and she fell, hard, all the wind knocked out of her. He grinned as he loomed over her.

“Well, well. Two is better than one, ain’t it? The boss’ll sure be happy for your feistiness, girly.”

He leaned down to grab her, but Libby pulled both feet in and kicked at his knees. She felt her heels connect to his kneecaps, and heard a distinct pop. He screamed in pain and went down again, and Libby scrambled to her feet. She punched at the side of his head, and he rolled over.

A dark shape landed next to her. Two of them.  Without looking, Libby started at it. She ran towards it,  body slamming the dark shape into the ground.

Her arm was poised for a punch, but he grabbed it before she could make contact. He had a strong grip, but she was stronger, and she wrenched it out.

He wasn’t like the man she had already fought. He was wearing a mask that was made of some dark red material, covering his forehead, eyes, and nose, but his eyes were strangely dark, evenly black and almost glinting in the little light from the street. Something about the get-up was familiar, but she couldn’t think of what from.

Suddenly, the adrenaline started to turn to panic. She had knocked out a man, she thought, that was easily twice her size. She looked around; the young woman was gone. There was no reason to stay.

“Who are you?” the man she had pinned asked. His voice was husky, commanding. “What are you doing?”

What was she doing? She leapt to her feet.

“Don’t follow me,” she said to him. “It doesn’t matter who I am.”

She ran, as fast as she could, before he could get up. At the edge of the alley she retrieved her bag, every muscle in her body shaking uncontrollably.

She had used the curse, twice now, but was it any better that she had used it for good? A voice in the back of her head whispered _weapon_ , and Libby walked faster towards home before she could think about it more. Instead, she thought about how the Daredevil of Hell’s Kitchen was real, and she had taken him to the ground.


	5. Chapter 5

_Six years ago_

Her first instinct upon waking up was to scream.

Training overtook instinct, however, and the scream was stillborn, curling in her throat. Her eyes felt like they had been glued shut, her eyelashes attached to the tops of her cheeks. The light was painful even through her eyelids.

“Vitals are reaching normal levels. Internal temperature is at ninety degrees."

“Good. We’re almost there.”

_No, I’m here. I’m here_ , she thought, the sentence swimming through her mind like a water snake. She suddenly realized she was trembling.

When she could finally open her eyes, the scream almost burst from her again. She was lying on some sort of operating table, bright lights above her, and several masked faces looking down at her. Though her eyes were blinded by the lights, she could hear a dripping sound coming from all around her.

She bolted.

Before the doctors could react with anything other than shouts of surprise, she was making her way towards the door on shaking legs. She hit the door frame as she tried to get out, but she was still faster than those that were following her. It was like what she thought stepping into _Star Wars_ would have been like (she remembered seeing that at the theater as a kid, her father whispering about the science, her mother smiling in approval whenever Leia came on screen). Everywhere she turned there seemed to be strange screens or holograms or something. Why would she wake up on a movie set? The confusion swirled in her brain, dripping down like rain on a window.

She rounded the corner down the hall and almost collapsed at the change in momentum, but she pushed herself to keep going. She nearly bowled down the agents that caught her at the end of the hall. They held onto her, and she fell to her knees, still struggling.

“Miss Barnes. Miss Barnes!” one of them said, gripping her upper arm. “You need to calm down. Just calm down! We’re not here to hurt you.” She continued to struggle, trying to regain her feet and keep moving.

The agent who had spoken before now turned to an earpiece. “We need a sedative down here, now.” She stopped struggling and shook her head violently. She didn’t want to lose consciousness again.

“No? Well, if you calm down, we won’t sedate you. We’re not here to hurt you, I promise.” His voice was attempting to sound reassuring, but it still had a harsh, grating quality to it.

Though everything in her was shouting to keep fighting, she held herself back and went limp. The agents stumbled a bit from the change in weight, and then straightened themselves up, pulling her with them. They escorted her to a small room with a hospital bed, and helped her sit down.

For two days she stayed there, and she didn’t say a word. Her throat felt raw, each breath like needles in her windpipe. Doctors came to examine every inch of her, and she submitted numbly to their tests, eyes closed, drifting.

“She still hasn’t said anything. Do you think the experience affected her brain?” the voice was young, eager.

“I’m not sure. The preliminary tests didn’t show anything, but the shock could have done something,” another voice answered, smooth as honeyed tea Gran used to make her.

The third voice was deep and gravelly, like the speaker had been practicing his John Wayne impression. “Figure out what. We don’t need the actual subject to have gone brain dead when we need him.”

“I doubt the ice would do that, not with the way we made sure everything thawed out evenly. It was probably the shock of waking,” the second voice said quickly.

“We’ll have to sedate right away next time,” the first voice piped up. “Sedate and plan a smoother awakening. She won’t look anyone in the eye, and she fought our people pretty hard.”

The third doctor consulted a file. “She doesn’t know anyone here. Maybe if we could call in someone from before…”

“You think she’ll respond to that?”

She did.

“Libby?” the familiar voice said softly.

Eyelids still sticky, it took all of the strength in Libby's head to looked up. “Peggy?”

Peggy Carter was older, her hair white and her face more lined, but it was definitely still her. Peggy wrapped her arms around Libby's shaking form, still all skin and bones. “Libby, darling, it’s all right. You’re awake now. It’s all right.”

“Peggy, where are we? Who are they?” Libby asked, her voice rusty from disuse. Every word felt like it had to dig itself from a living grave.

“We’re in a SHIELD facility, of course.” Peggy said, looking concerned for Libby’s confusion.

Libby shook her head. “No, we’re not. There’s too many screens and they’re too small to do anything and…”

Peggy sighed deeply. Carefully, she took Libby’s hands in her own, the warmth spreading into Libby’s waxing fingers. “Libby, dear, it’s been a few... decades since you went to sleep.”


	6. Chapter 6

At the first ring, Libby thought the phone was an alarm of some sort, and shot up straight in bed. Her heart racing, her mind flipped through every possible alarm: fire, burglary, flood? When she couldn’t detect anything that seemed dire, she took a deep breath, willing her heart to slow to a more normal rate. The late autumn air was chilly that early in the morning. The incessant ringing continued. Once she realized where the sound was coming from, Libby blindly reached for her phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, Lib.”

“Val, it’s –“ she checked her alarm clock, squinting to see if she was reading the green glow correctly. “It’s three am.”

“Yeah. I’m…in a bit of a situation.”

Libby sighed. “Where are you? I’ll see if I can find a cab this late but there is no way I’m coming in anything but sweats and –“

“I don’t think that’s going to help.”

“What?” Libby rubbed at her eyes, thinking she might have misheard in her sleepy daze.

“Lib, I’m kind of…um…at the police station.”

Now Libby was fully awake. “What?”

Val’s voice became lower and she talked faster. “Listen, I don’t have a lot of time. I was trying to get that thing, and I screwed up. I can’t get a hold of Nat, but it’s really important that I do, she needs to know that…never mind, I’ll tell you later. Right now, I’m just act—telling them that it was simple trespassing, but if they find out what—anyway, if I’m here for much longer, things are going to get a lot worse.”

“Val, what were you –“

“Listen, Libby, I really don’t have time to debate this. I need you to get a hold of Nat, if you can, and it’d be really nice if you can figure out a way to get me out of here.” “Val-“

“Gotta go, Lib, they’re telling me my time is up. Call Nat!”

The phone clicked. Libby sat for a moment, starting at the phone in her hand. Val was in jail. Val was in jail. For trespassing?

The file.

Libby bolted out of bed and dialed the number she had for Natasha. The phone rang twice, then went to voicemail. The tinny sounding answering machine did nothing to help Libby’s mood. She hung up the phone without leaving a message.

Val had been trying to steal the file, Libby was sure. “Valyeria, you idiot,” she muttered as she pulled on some shoes with one hand and held the phone in the other, dialing again. This time, the phone continued to ring. Libby waiting for the beep, deciding Val’s urgency merited an actual phone message. “Hey, Natasha, it’s Libby. Val just called me, she said she’s in some kind of trouble, she’s at the police station and she told me to call you. Call me back when you get this? Thanks.” She hung up and finished pulling on her boots.

A cab would be nearly impossible to find at this time of night. Outside, the city was a quiet as it ever got, waiting breathlessly for a new day to begin. The last of the late night revelers had gone home at last, and only the rats and rain remained awake, a lone car occasionally causing a ruckus of tires through water. A cab finally came by, and Libby flagged the sleepy driver down, hugging her arms to her against the breeze and rain as she told him her destination.

When Libby finally made it to the police station, she was sure she looked like a mess. But she approached the officer at the desk and smiled politely at the officer behind the desk, who’s eyelids dropped over his dark eyes. “Hi. I just got a call from my friend. She said she was here? Her name is Val Petrikova.”

The officer checked the computer. “B and E and trespassing on government property?” Libby nodded. “Well, she’s not here now,” the officer said, the look in his eyes obviously suspicious of women who showed up at his precinct at three in the morning for jailed friends who were no longer jailed.

“What?”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “She was let out on bail about fifteen minutes ago.”

Why had Val told her to come down if someone else was coming to get her? “Do you know who posted bail?” The officer shook his head, and gave a side glance at the sports recap behind him. Libby took the hint. “Thanks,” she said, as she turned to go.

She called Val’s phone, but there was no answer. Libby made her way to the subway stop and started to dial again when a text came through from an unknown number.

_V out on bail. First thing tomorrow, Nelson and Murdock Attorneys. Try to meet with Murdock. V says don’t worry._

It had to be from Nat, but why she was using a different phone, Libby couldn’t say.

***

The next morning, Libby made her way down to the address for Nelson and Murdock, Attorneys at Law. The front door was cheerful and welcoming, the brass sign out front like a beacon of promise. She had learned during a quick internet search that the firm was a relatively new one, two up and comers who already had an impressive record.

The tinny sound of a bell greeted her as she pushed the door open. A tall dark haired man wearing dark tinted glasses was the only one in the office, but it was early. He leaned over a desk, his fingers brushing a document in front of him. The sleeves of his crisp white shirt were rolled up, his dark tie slightly askew, a long white and red cane propped up next to him against the desk. He was blind, Libby realized with a start.

He heard the bell and stood up. “Can I help you?” he asked. His voice was soft, almost as if he were muttering.

“My name is Libby Barnes. I need a lawyer. I’m looking for Mr. Murdock.”

Was she imagining things, or did he suddenly look on edge by the sound of her voice? “I’m Matthew Murdock,” he said. “What do you need a lawyer for?”

The tinny bell rang out again, and a tall blond woman came in, coffees and a pastry bag balanced in her hands. She looked surprised to see Libby there, glancing between her and Murdock. “Good morning, Matt. Oh, I didn’t realize…”

Murdock smiled. “It’s all right, Karen. This is Miss Barnes. She, ah, dropped in for an appointment unexpectedly.”

“Oh.” Karen didn’t quite look convinced. “All right. Well, would you like anything? Coffee, tea, or, um…”

Libby decided she liked Karen. Her voice was friendly, but her eyes were determined, her spine straight and proud, despite her blond hair covering part of her face. She looked like the kind of person that would do whatever it took to do the right thing. “No, but thank you,” Libby responded with a quick smile.

She turned her attention back to the lawyer. Murdock – well, you couldn’t say he was looking at her, of course, but he seemed to be contemplating her. Finally, he gave a half smile. It was wary. “Please, come in and sit down,” he said, gesturing to his office. Libby followed his outstretched arm into the room. Murdock closed the door. “You said you needed a lawyer?”

“Yes. My idiot of a best friend got herself into some trouble last night. I got your name from a… friend, Natasha Romanoff.”

Murdock frowned. “I can’t say I know her.”

This situation seemed fishier all the time. “Well. She referred me here anyway,” Libby said, stumbling a bit over the words. To her own ears, it was a lame sentence.

Murdock frowned a little. “You said you had a friend who needed some help?”

Back on track. “Yes,” Libby said briskly. “She was arrested last night for apparently breaking and entering and trespassing.”

“And was she?”

Libby squirmed a little bit. “Well, yeah, I think so. But…I don’t think she had malicious intent at all.”

“We can work with that. What’s your friend’s name?”

“Valyeria Petrikova.” Was she imaging things, or did a muscle in his jaw twitch at the name “Petrikova”?

Maybe she was, because when he spoke again, it was in the same even voice as before. “What else can you tell me about this case?” “Not much. All I know is she called me last night from jail, and when I went to get her, she was gone. So I haven’t quite heard the whole story.”

Murdock leaned forward onto his elbows. “She was gone?”

“Yes, the officer on duty said bail had been posted.”

Murdock’s frown deepened. “You’re sure she didn’t tell you she was leaving with someone else?”

Libby shook her head, then realized what she’d done. “No-”

A knock on the door stopped her. Another man, with swept back shoulder length hair and eyes that said he smiled a lot pushed open the door without waiting to be invited in. “Hey Matt, we’ve got twenty minutes to be down at…” He finally caught sight of Libby and stopped midsentence. “Oh. Sorry.”

Murdock stood up. “Thanks, Foggy. I’ll be right there.” He waited until Foggy left, and then turned back to Libby. “We’d be happy to take the case, Miss Barnes. But we’re going to need to find the defendant if we’re going to have any chance of anything.”

Libby sighed. A problem she could have easily foreseen. “Okay. I’ll find her then. Might not be easy, though.” A half grin flashed across his face. He stood and extended his hand, and she took it and stood as well. “We’ll set up an appointment for later this week to discuss this further,” he said smoothly.

At the door of his office, Murdock hesitated for a fraction of a second, and Libby paused too. He seemed to be struggling with himself. Finally, he burst out, “I’m sorry, but I have to ask…do I know you?”

A little taken aback, she searched her memory. Something about him did seem familiar, but she didn’t think they had met. She thought for sure she would have remembered the feeling that this blind man was watching her, seeing her even without his eyesight. “No, I don’t think so.”

He gave a small smile again. “Ah. My mistake then. It was a pleasure to meet you, then, and I’m looking forward to getting to know you more, Miss Barnes.” His voice was so genuine, Libby couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you,” she answered, then took her leave.

Outside the office, the air was chilly, and the wind was picking up. A few scattered leaves scratched the sidewalk. Libby pulled her coat closer and started for the subway station. The wind was so biting she decided to take a shortcut through an alley. She picked her way around garbage piles and was watching her feet to avoid puddles when the hand reached out to grab her.

Automatically, her body tensed to fight, but before she could land anything, her assailant had her arm twisted against her back. “Whoa, there.”

Libby breathed again. “Natasha.”

She let go, and Libby turned around to look at the Black Widow’s face. Her red hair was a sharp contrast against the black trench coat she was wearing and her black boots made her stance imposing. “You’ve definitely got the super soldier strength, but you’ve got no skills in channeling it.”

Libby rolled her eyes. “Thanks. Is that all? Because it would fit with the rest of the cryptic half answers you’ve given me.”

Natasha smiled. “No, actually, it’s not. And I’ve told you all you need to know.” She turned and started walking down the alley. She went about ten feet, and when Libby didn’t follow her, she turned around looking impatient. “Come on,” she ordered.

“Where are we going?”

“Someone you need to meet. Hurry up.”

Feeling a bit like a chastised child, Libby half jogged to catch up. “Who?”

“You’ll see.”

They made their way to the nearest subway station. Libby turned to buy tickets, hoping to find out where they were going, but Natasha grabbed her wrist and directed her through the turnstiles, holding tickets in her hand. In the echoing space of the station, Libby couldn’t hear herself enough to ask her next pressing question until they reached the platform.

“Where’s Val?” she asked, trying to meet Natasha’s eyes. Natasha was looking up and down the platform, probably scanning for any threats; Libby had seen the behavior before. “I went and bailed her out last night. I’ve taken her to a safe house for now.”

“A safe house? Isn’t that a little extreme?”

Natasha finally turned to look at Libby. “Do you realize how much trouble she’s in?”

“She was trespassing and breaking and entering. That’s enough trouble to be in without basically running from the law,” Libby said, hearing the slight accusation in her own voice.

Natasha shook her head. “She should have known that someone like her, with her background, would be on every watch list,” she said, head on a constant discrete swivel as they walked. “She needed to be careful, toe the line. Anything that would arouse suspicion would be bad enough. It’s worse because she was somewhere the public doesn’t even know exists. The security guard thought she was just breaking into the front, but she got deeper. She needs to lay low for now, or she’s going to be in trouble even I couldn’t get her out of.”

The train arrived, and they boarded. Libby sat for the majority of the trip simply turning over Natasha’s cryptic words in her head, her worry for Val mounting with every second. What had she meant by Val’s background? Val had seemed like she was hiding something on the phone last night, but Libby knew she had completely disavowed anything her family had ever done. She had removed herself from any suspicion of black market activity, so why should she be on watch lists? The train stopped at a station in Brooklyn and Natasha nearly dragged Libby off of it. She set out at a quick pace down the street. Libby lengthened her stride to keep up. “You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

“This family mystery of yours. What exactly is it?”

Taken by surprise, Libby stared at Natasha for a moment. The Barnes family mystery had nothing to do with Val and what she had gotten herself into, so why was Natasha here when she had said she couldn’t give her any more information? Libby exhaled deeply, annoyed. “It has to do with some kind of genetic modification. Dad wasn’t sure what the side effects were, if any. All he knew was, it gives us extreme strength, and with that there’s also an enhanced metabolism, extreme endurance, and maybe more. We don’t know how it got there, or why it’s always the dominant gene. Dad was trying to figure it out when…”

Natasha didn’t react, just swept her eyes over the street again. “What do you know about Bucky Barnes?”

Startled at the suddenly change in subject, Libby stuttered a bit. “I…well, all I know is the story Gran told. And Dad dug up some stuff on him at one point. His Army division, that he was captured in Germany and rescued. That he died on some sort of top secret mission with a group called the Howling Commandos.” There was one more thing, too, something that Libby or her father had avoided talking about. “And…well. There’s...a really strange incident.”

“What do you mean?” Natasha asked, for once looking at Libby.

“Gran swears she saw him, years after he was supposed to be dead.”

Natasha stopped walking and pulled Libby into a deserted doorway. The spy practically glared at Libby. “What?”

Libby tucked her hands in her pockets. “She was…getting on in years, so for a while, we thought she might have just imagined it. But she stuck with the story so much…well.”

Natasha started walking again, her stride long and even. “What was her story?”

“Gran swore she saw Bucky, briefly, in London one day. She was sure she saw him by Westminster Bridge, heading towards Parliament. He didn’t seem to recognize her, and she said she hardly recognized him too. But she did. Something about his eyes, she said, she’d never forget that. She called his name, but he didn’t answer, and then he disappeared.” “When was this?” “I don’t know exactly, maybe the early 1980s?”

A muscle in Natasha’s jaw twitched. She was lost in thought for a while as they continued walking, and Libby didn’t want to break it.

They finally stopped at a nice apartment building, and Natasha mounted the stairs. Libby followed her, wondering once again who they were going to see. In front of door on the top floor, Natasha stopped and whirled on Libby. “You’re going to meet someone that I think will be helpful for this family mystery. He was Bucky Barnes’ best friend.” Before Libby could respond at all, Natasha rapped sharply on the door twice.

It was opened marginally by a tall blond man with startling blue eyes. “Hey, Tasha,” he greeted the red head as he pushed the door open fully. “I didn’t know you were coming by today.”

Natasha’s smile was the genuine kind that Libby had seen her give to Val, and no one else. “Hey, Steve. Surprise visit.” A smirk dashed across her face. “Are the nurses going to let us in?”

The man, Steve, grinned at the joke and stood back for them to walk in. He caught sight of Libby behind Natasha as he went to shut the door, and looked momentarily confused before he put on a pleasant, but guarded, expression and extended his hand. “I don’t think we’ve met. Steve Rogers.”

Libby had to keep her jaw from dropping to the floor. Steve Rogers. The actual Steven Rogers. She’d heard the name countless times when she was under SHIELD protection, but it had always been just that, just a name. When she was at university, she had heard he had been miraculously saved from ice (though it never seemed like much of a miracle to Libby, who always winced at the stories). And now here, in front of her, Bucky Barnes’ best friend since childhood. A bit dazed, Libby took his hand and shook. His grip was firm and reassuring. She found her voice, hoping she hadn’t been hanging onto his hand long to make the shake awkward. “Libby Barnes.”

Rogers looked at Natasha, his face belying his shock. “Is this…”

“Yep.”

He looked back and forth between Natasha and Libby, the emotions in his eyes shifting with every glance. Finally, he simply stood and looked at Libby.

She felt an odd mixture of vague discomfort and tense expectation, and maybe somewhat defiant. She couldn’t quite decide what the predominant emotion was. There was definitely anger, at Natasha for bringing her here without warning to herself or Rogers. Libby felt like they both should have had some time to prepare, to process before being thrown together; this wasn’t a speed dating situation. But she was also elated, the part of her that obsessed over her family mystery jubilant at meeting this gold mine of information. Or was she mostly panicked, tongue tied and unsure of what to say to this man that she had so much and yet nothing in common with? Libby forced herself to keep her eyes up.

His blue eyes met her brown and lit up like he was seeing an old, half-forgotten acquaintance for the first time in decades. She looked back into the starting blue and decided: in the mix of emotional confusion swirling around her mind, a sense of familiarity and comradery was predominant. She suddenly understood why her grandfather would have stood by this man in anything and everything.

“You’re…you really are,” he said voice hushed it what seemed to be disbelief. He grinned, and when he spoke again, the grin radiated through his voice. “Yeah, definitely. That’s the same look Buck would give me when he thought I was being stupid.” He laughed, a light, swooping sound.

Natasha was looking amusedly, and maybe a little fondly, at both of them. “Well. Looks like you’ve figured it out. Steve, meet your best friend’s granddaughter, Libby.”

Steve, of course, wanted to know the whole story, so Libby told him about her grandmother and Bucky. Steve grinned at the end of it. “That's incredible," he said, awestruck. " And you really do look a lot like him,” Steve said.

“She doesn’t just look like him,” Natasha said darkly. “She also seems to have gotten something else from him.” Steve looked at Natasha, confused.

“She’s got super soldier genes,” Natasha said in a low voice.

“That’s the second time you’ve said that-” Libby started, but neither of them acknowledged the comment.

“What?” Steve asked Natasha.

“Her father had them too. Dr. Hal Barnes, he was a scientist; you wouldn’t recognize the name, you were… out. He found that his genes were a close match to what was described in Erksine’s surviving work. And, of course, to some of the reports on the Captain America experiment that he got his hands on. So of course, he started thinking about his biological father. His mother had told him all about Sergeant Barnes, the war hero that died tragically after going through so much…”

“Germany,” Steve muttered. “Zola. Buck went to England right after I found him, right after they experimented on him; that must have been it.” He turned to Libby, his face etched in the beginnings of shame. “If I had known what had happened…about your grandmother, your father…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Buck never told me. I wish he had; I would have done something to help, I could have…”

“He…he didn’t you about them?” Libby was crestfallen. Had Elaine meant so little to Bucky that he hadn’t spoken of her?

Steve was immediately reassuring. “I’m sure he meant to,” he said quickly. “I was busy while we were recovering in England, planning strategies and putting the team together. And Buck was in and out of the hospital, recovering, and…I’ll admit, I was a little neglectful.” The shame on his face and in his voice deepened, his eyes wandering to fading black and white photographs on a shelf. Cheerful, eager looking young men looked back with glazed eyes, frozen for all time.

Suddenly, Steve looked puzzled, and he studied Libby. “How…how old are you?”

Taken aback at the suddenness of the question, Libby stared at him. Normally, she would have given the easy answer, counting years from what she and Peggy had settled on her age as when she woke up. But, of course, Steve would understand the predicament. Maybe he could even help her settle on a real answer. “I…honestly, I don’t know.” She took a deep breath. “I was sort of…out of it for a while.” She shut her eyes instinctively and shivered, blocking out the sudden flash of memories and the curiosity that had taken over Steve’s face. “They said it would only be for a couple of days,” she whispered, despite herself. “They just wanted to see if it was a possibility, if somehow…and I was eighteen and I wanted to do something, to not just sit there, so…I said yes and...” Her lips felt numb, frozen again, unable to form words.

“They put you in cryogenic stasis.” It was not a question. Somehow, Steve knew, and his voice was full of pain. “They wanted to see if I could have survived in extreme cold, didn’t they. They knew, or they figured out, that you had similar abilities. So they used someone with similar enhancements. But what did your parents say?”

Lips pressed together, Libby shook her head. “Gone. Dead. SHIELD took me in, they said it was to protect me but…” Her eyes were still squeezed shut, tears threatening to burst their dams. She wouldn’t let them, like she hadn’t let them back then. “I felt so useless, I just wanted to prove I was…But it was more than a few days. I woke up and…” She stopped, her breath coming in ragged little gasps. She didn’t want to think about it.

A large, warm hand closed over Libby’s clasped ones. The touch gave Libby something to center on and she took a deep, steadying breath. She took another, using it to lift herself from the curled position she had been sinking into. She squared her shoulders, and opened her eyes. Steve’s blue eyes were full of concern, and his hand wavered a little as if he was worried he had overstepped, but when Libby didn’t move away he reached out his other hand and squeezed her clasped fists comfortingly. “I am so sorry,” he said softly. “You should have never gone through that. No one should go through that.”

Mute, Libby nodded. Years of practice controlling her breathing settled her. She and Steve sat in silence for a few more moments before it was broken by the blast of a car horn outside.

Natasha stood up, all business. “She needs training. She has the basic strength, but she doesn’t know how to control it. That’s why I brought her to you.”

With the change of subject, Steve pulled his hands away and sat back in his chair. “Do you think we should…”

The sharp look Natasha shot him stopped him. “I’m not sure yet. She’s definitely going to need even more training if we do.”

Libby tapped the table. “Hello? Right here.”

“Sorry,” Steve said, shaking his head. “That was rude. But Tasha is right. You can’t just be running around out there on your own, not with super soldier abilities. You have to be careful, especially in New York. After…well, after the past while, anything that is the tiniest bit out of the ordinary causes a sensation. The last thing we need is someone to find out you’re here.”

“You want to put me in hiding?” Libby asked, revulsion at the familiarity of the statement crawling up from her stomach.

“No,” Steve said, “I’m just saying, it’s hard to readjust and keep a low profile. Especially in a city like this. The modern world is probably a lot different than what you remember.”

Despite the sensation of bile fading from her throat, Libby smiled. “I’ve been living in and around London for the past six years. I think I know a bit about cities and the modern world.”

One eyebrow raised, Steve looked fairly impressed. “Well, then, maybe you’ve got a thing or two to teach me.”

A grin spread across Natasha’s face. “Well then, looks like I’ve just found a new Barnes to be Captain Rogers’s sidekick.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Libby searches for Val, something mysterious swirling around New York threatens to fold in on her.

There was no word from Val two weeks later, and Libby felt like she had to go inform the lawyers at Nelson and Murdock. She was starting to get worried; the first date with the judge was approaching, and the last thing she needed was to have Val skip bail.

Murdock was alone in the office again this morning. Libby wondered if he just got there really early, or if he slept there. He looked up from his desk when she entered.

“Hello,” she said, leaning her head into the office.

“Hello, Miss Barnes,” he greeted her with a soft smile. His smile was nice, the end twisted up like it couldn’t contain some secret humor. His hair was nice too; dark and wavy, but clean cut and effortless. Mentally, Libby shook herself. What was she thinking?

Murdock stood and came to the door, hand outstretched. They shook, and he gestured Libby into the office. They sat across the desk from each other, his hands folded politely on the polished wood.

“What can we help you with today?” Murdock asked pleasantly.

Libby sighed. “It’s about Val’s case. I still haven’t heard from her. And unless I do, I don’t know if there’s much you’re going to be able to do.”

Murdock contemplated her in that way that made her think he could actually see. “I got a call the other day from that friend of yours that referred you here.”

“Natasha?” Would she have used her real name? What an obvious reason I’m not a spy, Libby thought; the thought that Natasha might not use her real name hadn’t occurred to her until just then.

“Yes. She wasn’t entirely clear, but I think we might still have a case here. Just not about Miss Petrikova’s breaking and entering.”

Libby sat forward in her chair as if proximity could make that statement clearer. “What do you mean?”

Murdock’s head tilted towards the door, like the border collie herding sheep Libby had once watched with Gramps when an unknown approached its flock. “This is going to take longer than I have right now,” Murdock said. “But…how about lunch tomorrow? About twelve thirty? I have some questions I’d like to ask.”

Libby nodded, then caught herself, embarrassed. She really needed to work on that. “I’m sorry, I just—I mean, yes, that should be fine.”

He nodded. “Until then, Miss Barnes.”

 

When Libby made it to work, Nadia looked up, her face pinched and distracted. “Oh! I’m so glad you’re here, I thought you were going to be late!” she sighed, collapsing back in her chair. “There’s been another round of kidnappings and …” She trailed off.

“Whoa, whoa, slow down. Bit new here still. Kidnappings?” Libby asked as she slung her bag over her own chair and sat down, swiveling to look at Nadia.

“Yeah,” Nadia answered. Her hands were fluttering as she spoke, agitated. Her corkscrew curls seemed right on edge, like they were propped up out of the side of her head with pipe cleaners. “For the past few months, people have been disappearing at a crazy rate. No one’s been found yet. There’s rumors that a Russian gang is behind it, but the police have nothing.”

“Nothing?” Libby was surprised. “No leads at all? Why are they thinking Russians then?”

“Every lead they turn up turns into a dead end,” Nadia said, her whole body tense. Suddenly, her lip trembled, and she burst into tears.

“Nadia!” Libby gasped, reaching out and grabbing her hands. “What is it?”

Trying desperately to be able to speak, Nadia’s breath came in little gasps. “It’s…my cousin…Kemar…he…he’d only been here a few weeks…it was my fault, I should have looked out for him more, it’s my fault—“

On top of sudden Monsoon Nadia,  Mulligan blustered in. “Stop jabbering!” he ordered, slamming his office door behind him with hardly a glance at the reception desk.

Nadia quickly turned away, stood, and rushed off in the direction of the bathroom. Mulligan rolled his eyes, muttered something about emotional women, and slammed his office door on the way back in. Libby glared at his back, hoping he could feel  the fire coming from her eyes. She could imagine the satisfaction of kicking in the door and landing a punch square in Mulligan’s nose, the way her fist would feel making contact with his cartilage. If superheroes were really all over this city, why weren’t they focusing their efforts on scumbags like the local city councilman?

What was she thinking? New York was making her tense; she had let loose a some sort of savage pleasure that she needed to reign in again. Now. And thinking about superheroes…Dad’s voice echoed in her mind again: _easy to use as a weapon_.

“Is Nadia okay?” Mark had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, his dark eyes swimming with worry. His obvious concern softened Libby and made her forget her rage for the moment.

“I don’t know,” Libby answered, glancing in the direction Nadia had gone. “She said something about her cousin…”

“Kemar?” Jose had joined them, spinning Nadia’s now vacant chair around and straddling it.

“What happened to him?” Libby asked.

Mark sighed and sunk on to Nadia’s side of the desk. “Nadia’s originally from Haiti. She came here with her parents when she was three. A couple of months ago, her closest cousin, Kemar, immigrated over to live with them.”  
“Nadia was thrilled,” Jose interjected. “They’re only about a year apart, and growing up, they spent vacations together. They were close, more like siblings than cousins, she said.”

“He’s a cool guy,” Mark said. “A bit quiet, but real funny when he’s got something to say, you know? Real hard working too. I’ve only met him once, but I could tell. He’s got a great future here, is really going to make something out of himself when he finds the right opportunity.”

“So what happened?” Libby asked.

Both of the men’s faces fell. They exchanged a glance. “He disappeared a few weeks ago,” Mark said. “He was just gone one day. The police haven’t found a single lead on his case, but they think it’s connected to all the other disappearances.”

“Oh no,” Libby groaned. “Poor Nadia. Why didn’t she tell me?”

“She tries to forget about it,” Mark said. “And that’s just who she is. She’d rather pay attention to helping everyone around her than stew in her own problems.”

Libby bit her lip, half out of her chair. She wasn’t sure what to do. She thought she knew Nadia well, but the fact that the other woman had held something so important from her made her question whether she should go comfort her or not. “No wonder she was so upset to hear about more kidnappings.”

“There’s been more?” Jose asked. “ _Anda pa’l carajo_ , can anyone go anywhere in this city these days without a huge chance something traumatic happens?”

“Jose, you think seeing someone wearing a toupee is traumatic,” Mark pointed out.

“It _is!”_ Jose shot back.

Libby wasn’t listening. Her eyes glanced back in the direction Nadia had gone. “Should I…” she said, softly.

Mark noticed her hesitation. “It’s all right, Libby. I’ll go see if she’s ready to talk.” He gave Libby a half smile and headed after Nadia.

Jose stayed and chatted with Libby for a few minutes, but neither of them could focus on the conversation much. Soon, he drifted back to his desk, and Libby spent the remainder of the morning distractedly trying to work.

By the time noon rolled around, Nadia still hadn’t returned. Libby wanted to wait for her, but she knew she would be cutting it too close. Scrawling a note, she hastily stood and made her way out.

 

Murdock was waiting outside the door of his office. He was a still moment in a sea of people rushing by on the sidewalk, an island in a tsunami.

Before Libby could speak, he had angled himself towards her, a pleasant smile playing on his face. Somehow, he had sensed she was there, even in the midst of the crowd.

“Hello,” Libby said when she was finally close enough to speak without shouting, and he inclined his head.

“Hello, Miss Barnes,” he replied. “I thought it might be better to discuss this outside of the office. Ah, technically speaking…well, I would rather Foggy and Karen not get involved in this.”

A creeping feeling of suspicion started up Libby’s spine. Why wouldn’t Murdock want his partner and their secretary to know about a case he was taking on? Libby hesitated. Did she trust him? Logic said no. Instinct said yes. Dad had always said “Instinct is usually right, and it can take logic a while to catch up with it.”

Then again, Mom used to always counter with “If instinct is loud enough, why listen to something as slow as logic?”

Libby decided to take the chance. “Oh, um, okay,” she finally got out.

Murdock’s smile flickered again, but that wicked twitch at the end seemed a little forced. He led the way down the sidewalk. Libby felt distinctly awkward as she hovered half beside him, half behind him, unsure of what to say or do.

They stopped at a diner about two blocks away. Murdock politely held the door for Libby, a small bell over it tinkling to announce their arrival. She made her way to a booth in the corner, where she could have a vantage point for the entire place. Murdock paused for a moment; Libby assumed he was adjusting to the new surroundings of cooking food, smooth Formica tables, plastic chair cushions, and clinking silverware percussion to a symphony of voices. But it only lasted a moment; he slid in across from Libby with no questions about her choice of seating arrangements.

They didn’t speak beyond what was necessary until after the waitress had taken their orders and menus. Libby sat fiddling with the edge of the cloth napkin in front of her, trying to find some comfortable way to cross her legs. It wasn’t easy in the small booth.

Murdock seemed to be momentarily meditating, or praying, or maybe just thinking. Libby wasn’t quite sure what to make of his silence. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of him in general. He was so guarded, every movement so carefully placed. And yet, when he smiled or when he seemed to sense something just beyond anyone else’s perception, she thought she saw a flash of something else. Something she couldn’t quite understand. It was simultaneously off putting, alarming, and intriguing. Lost in her musing and attempts at deduction, when he finally looked up, it took Libby by surprise. His face had a pleasant, if very professional expression.

“What can you tell me about your friend?” he asked. “Valyeria Petrikova?”

“What do you want to know?” She wondered what he knew already. “Val and I met each other our first day of university,” she explained. “We were quiet in different ways. I was quiet because I felt out of place. She was quiet because that was her way of holding power; she chose what, when, and how to say anything. We were just kind of drawn together.”

He leaned forward slightly. “What can you tell me about her family?”

Why was this relevant? “Val’s family is an extremely wealthy and influential business dynasty in Russia.” She decided to leave out that their wealth came from a bioengineering company—well, at least, that’s what the front was. The real business happened behind the scenes, but what exactly it was, Val had never said. That part wasn’t Libby’s to tell. “She doesn’t speak with them anymore.”

“Why?” something at the edge of his voice signaled doubt.

“She disagrees with her father on ideology. So she left.” Libby didn’t mean to tell him about how Val’s mother had died when she was six or the three older brothers, or how Val said, with a bitter pleasure, that before their mother died, she was the princess of the family. Her brother Dmitri and she were their mother’s favorite, and they spent most of their time with her; Val hardly ever saw her father then. But when her mother died, everything changed. She still had everything she could want, but it was more like being kept prisoner. And then her father tried to ship her to some sort of ladies’ boarding school, somewhere very elite, but Val refused to go. That’s when she started to plan her escape. With the help of Natasha Romanoff, she had learned how to hack into banking accounts and she started siphoning off money, until she had enough to leave at eighteen. She packed her bags and walked out the door, catching a flight to England and vowing to never return. So far, she had stayed good on that promise.

Murdock listened with rapt attention to the details as they tumbled from Libby. He had a slight absentminded frown on his face now. “What is she like?” he asked, as Libby awkwardly pushed a fry in her mouth.

She swallowed quickly, the fry sticking slightly in her throat. “What do you mean?”

"How would you describe her...personality? What is she like?"

Oh boy, how did one describe Val succinctly? Libby took a deep breath in and let it out slowly from the corner of her mouth as she thought. “Val is…she’s Val. She’s clever, she knows what she wants and she goes for it. She’s not afraid to speak out. She’s loyal to her people, but that’s very select people. She’s…determined. Cunning. Fierce.”

The corner of Murdock’s lips twitched up. “It seems ‘her people’ means you, from what the police report says happened.”

The waitress brought their food while Libby rolled her eyes in frustration. Why had Val gone after that file? There couldn’t be anything in there that Libby or her father hadn’t picked up on over the years. Dr. Barnes had always been very careful that none of his research could be linked back to his greatest secrets; what would SHIELD have known that would have changed anything? As Libby tried to think of something to say, she dug into her fries as if their heat could help her divine answers.

“We take care of each other,” she said. “She became one of the family; my grandfather basically accepted her as one of our own right away, and he was my only family left. She was there when I needed her most. She’s my best friend.” Despite her best efforts, Libby could hear her own voice becoming defensive, working around the choking lump forming.

Again, that feeling that Murdock was scrutinizing her behind his glasses. She wished she could see his eyes; she might be able to tell what he was thinking if she could.

“But what is her family doing, then? Does she ever talk about it?” his voice was intense, commanding. He was so fixated on the family; why?

Libby’s spine stiffened. “I thought this was about helping Val.”

“Of course, but-“

Decision: there was something else Murdock was trying to get out of her, and until she knew what it was, she was not saying anything else. This was over. “I’ve got to get back to work,” Libby said, standing. She dug out a bill for her meal, and left, the bell on the door mocking her.

As she walked back to City Hall, Libby’s balled her fists in her coat pockets. What was with Murdock? He had asked all about Val’s background, but nothing about the actual break in or any kind of criminal history (not, Libby thought, that she could have really answered that. If she was honest, she didn’t really want to know). And to have Natasha tell Libby to go see this particular lawyer when he claimed to have not even heard of the red-haired woman…What did it mean?

Something was happening, steaming to the surface around Libby the way a geyser did just before it burst. Kidnappings, questions about the Petrikovs, Val disappearing, Natasha and Steve’s unspoken questions. Try as she might, it looked like Libby Barnes couldn’t get away from shadows in New York.


	8. Chapter 8

Natasha had been right: Steve and Libby hit it off. As the weeks passed, she started spending more and more time in Brooklyn. This mostly consisted of walking through the streets, reminiscing about Bucky and the rest of the Barnes family, or other old times. It meant ice cream in Central Park, or going to one of those 50s style diners, and era unknown to both of them, and having lunch. The staff knew them now, and when they asked, point blank, about Captain America’s young girlfriend, Steve laughed and told them she was his niece. Libby liked that; it was feeling a part of a family again, something she had been missing since Gramps died.

They had been doing this for a few weeks, long enough to get to know each other a settle into a routine when Steve brought it up. The day was chilled, the wind blowing Libby’s hair into her eyes. Steve tweaked the zipper of his dark leather jacket up a fraction. “So, tell me about…” He made a vague gesture. Libby was pretty sure she knew what he was talking about, and she did not want to discuss it.

“My opinion on _The Empire Strikes Back_? Because you know, I did see it in its original theatrical release, and well, how much time do you have?”

Steve laughed, but as he checked for traffic before they crossed the street, his eyes were still somewhat distracted. Libby could see he wasn’t going to drop the issue.

But she could try anyway. “First of all, let’s talk about Luke just _taking off,_  I mean, yeah, sure, maybe he had to or whatever, hero’s journey blah blah blah but still, jerk move.” They made their way around idling taxis and bicycle messengers ringing bells angrily, a sound that always seemed like an oxymoron to Libby.

Steve indulged Libby’s tangent until they reached his building, but then got back to his point. “Your theories are fascinating, but I was talking about your…condition.”

“Curse,” she sighed as they climbed the stairs to Steve’s apartment. “Dad always said it was a curse. Nothing we could do about it. It’s not like you can treat it or anything, it’s just part of who we are. You know all about it. You’ve lived pretty much the same thing.”

Steve unlocked the door and stood back for Libby to walk in ahead of him. “I’m not sure if I do,” he said. “I was a scrawny kid from Brooklyn and I joined the army. Something tells me that was not your experience.”

Libby moved a sketchbook and some pencils from the couch to the table, flopping down in their place. “Okay, not exactly.” She sighed again as Steve sat down in a chair across from her, fingers pressed together. It was a bit like being interrogated by a movie psychiatrist. “Dad spent his life trying to figure it out. He went into genetics, and most of his research had to do with us, me and him. Like I said, nothing we could do to treat it. So he just wanted to understand it. He kept his subjects a secret, never did anything that would make him seem abnormal, and taught me to do the same.”

“Why?” Steve asked, his voice low.

Libby shut her eyes to resist rolling them. “Look, Steve, I don’t think you quite get what happened after you. Captain America showed up and changed the whole game. Suddenly, everyone knew they had to have one, and by everyone, I mean every nation that was worried suddenly about rogue scientists and new secret weapons. Dad didn’t want that to happen to us, to me. He didn’t want us to become weapons.” A rush of uncomfortable memories, like being shut inside a too small glass jar, pressed down from a time long passed, in so many ways. “But it was hard. Hiding so much of myself, all the time, trying to pass in the shadows. Not calling attention to myself.”

“What I don’t understand,” he said, “was what exactly you were hiding. You were born with altered genes, right?”

“Right. Which made it easier. No sudden physical transformations. I mean, growth spurts really sucked, more than other kids I think, but you’re right, it was just normal. Except it wasn’t. I didn’t play sports; I couldn’t even run normally in physical education. Cuts and bruises healed faster. I was sensitive to more stimuli.”

Steve stood suddenly. “Show me what you can do,” he said. It was gentle, but firm.

Libby looked up at him, startled by this abrupt change of arrangement. “What do you mean?” She stood and followed Steve to his spare room.

A boxing bag, the same worn brown of  the mooring posts on the East River, hung from the ceiling. “Are you serious?” she asked.

In answer, Steve pushed the bag gently towards her. “Just try it.”

Half-heartedly, Libby punched the bag with one fist. Steve caught it and gave her a look. “Not what you’ve always had to do,” he said. “Show me what you’ve really got.”

Keeping her eyes locked on the guarded blue ones, Libby wound up a fist. She imagined the surge of adrenaline that had gone through her when she had run down the alley after the kidnapper, the burst of power she’d felt chasing after the gunman her first day in New York. Fist met bag.

The bag dropped to the floor, sand trickling out of a new hole in the side.

Steve’s eyebrows were threatening to disappear into his crew cut. “That’s incredible.”

“It’s frustrating,” Libby answered, backing away to the door. She barely took one glance back at the bag before she left the room.

Steve followed her back to the living room. “What if…you could use it?”

Libby laughed without humor. “Oh yeah, sudden Olympian athlete shows up on the scene. No training, no appearances anywhere else. Miracle woman. No questions are going to be asked about that.”

Steve’s mouth twitched into a smile that faded into a pensive expression as quickly as it came. “That’s not what I meant. I meant…what if you could use your skills, to help people? And if there was a way to make sure…you still had privacy?”

Libby sat up and looked him in the eye. But she didn’t say anything; she didn’t want to plant the idea in his head.

“What if you joined us? By us, I mean…well, the Avengers.”

Not sure she could believe what she was hearing, Libby stared at him. “What?”

“You have powers. We could help you train, to use them, to help people. We could use you.”

Suddenly realizing her mouth was open, Libby snapped it shut. “No,” she answered through gritted teeth.

“Why?” Confusion was written on Steve’s face.

Crossing her arms and sinking further back into the couch, Libby tried to ignore her father’s voice from years ago echoing through her memory. “I’m not going to be a superhero. I’m not going to be anyone’s weapon.”

“But you won’t be a weapon, you’ll be protecting people!” Steve said.

“No,” Libby said again, her voice hard.

“You’d be doing good for the world. That’s what we do, Lib. But –“ he read the look in her eyes, “I’m not going to force you to join. I wouldn’t do that. But when you’re given something like that, the ability to make things better, there’s a responsibility there.”

Steve didn’t bring up the Avengers for the rest of the day, but Libby found an excuse to leave as quickly as she could. For two weeks, she tried to push it off. A superhero. What an absurd idea. There was no reason for her to join any team, become any weapon. Absolutely no reason for her to enter anyone else’s fight, and she wasn’t going to just jump right in for no reason.

But when she walked into work on a rainy Tuesday and saw the article in the bottom corner of Nadia’s newspaper, she couldn’t push it off any further. The picture was grainy, but Libby recognized the woman. It was the one she had tried to save. The article said she had disappeared.

Responsibility, Steve had said. There was responsibility that came with the kind of abilities that got her involved in a way she could not break until the threat was over. Whatever had happened at the docks, with the woman in the alley…Libby had a responsibility to see it through. And that was it, she swore to herself. She’d already entangled herself in this, but it was low level street crime. So to fight it, she was going to need help from someone who knew how to handle that kind of responsibility.

And so, on a night where the stars were just starting to come out, Libby found herself back in her dark leggings and hoodie, standing on the roof of her apartment building, scanning the skyline for Daredevil. Part of her, the part that still heard her father’s whisper of _weapon_ , was hesitant to find him; did she really want to expose her family secret to someone else? But their fight must have been the reason the woman in the paper hadn’t gotten away. Somehow, Libby was going to have to join forces with Daredevil to completely fix this problem.

She found him on top of a building closer to her apartment than she thought he would be. She watched him for a few minutes, poised at the edge of the roof, listening. He pulled down his mask, and that‘s when she moved.

She practically barreled into him, using surprise and force to knock him over, but he recovered himself quickly. His blows were practiced, efficient. It took all her strength to keep engaging him, and only with luck was she able to trip him from behind. Before he could stand, she knelt over him.

“Stop. I’m not trying to hurt you. I just need your attention,” she said, panting slightly. She backed out of his range.

“What do you want?” he said, breathing heavily as well.   
“I’m going to get up, but only if you’ll listen to me and not run off.”

“No promises.”

“I didn’t ask for one,” she answered as she stood. He got to his feet warily.

“You’re the one they call Daredevil? The vigilante of Hell’s Kitchen?”

His body language changed; his edge softened, and he seemed almost…curious. “Why do you want to know?”

She took a deep breath. “I need your help. I want you to train me.”

He smiled and gave a half laugh. “I don’t take on sidekicks.”

Sidekick? _Sidekick?_ What was she supposed to be, a love-sick puppy of a kid? She’d just knocked him to the ground! “I never said I wanted to be a sidekick. I said I wanted you to teach me your skills.”

“Why?”

She should have known it would be difficult, but she hadn’t thought about how to explain what she wanted to him. She had only planned on explaining the situation, what they needed to do. She figured he would just go along with it – wasn’t that what he did? “There’s been a lot of kidnappings recently,” she started, words heavy on her tongue. “Rumor has it, there’s a human trafficking gang operating in the area. The legal channels aren’t working fast enough. No one feels safe walking around New York at night because of it. People are feeling…helpless.” As clear as the day it had happened, she remembered walking up her home driveway, the black cars, the agents. The way the concrete steps bit into her knees as she crashed down. “No one should feel like that,” she said, softly, her mind registering the memory of screaming and tear more than the night skyline and her voice now.

A smirk flashed across his face again, but this one looked more endearing. “I’m taking care of it.”

“Let me help you then.”

“You should stay out of this. Like I told you, I don’t – “

She scoffed. “I do _not_ want to be your sidekick. Please. Ego much? But two of us could take care of this faster. And…” But she couldn’t articulate the sick feeling in her stomach when she thought about the outcome of their last encounter.

He didn’t move, but he didn’t seem convinced. She blew a breath out and tried again. “Listen, you know that I’m strong. I just don’t have the technical skills yet. But if you taught me, I could. And we could take down whoever is doing this.”

He looked up, startled. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Who’s running the ring.”

How had he found that out? “You do?”

“I thought you did. You followed them the other night, so I figured you knew.”

She shook her head. “No, I stumbled on that by accident.”

He crossed his arms in front of him. “You just stumbled on a kidnapping and you decided to take them out?”

Libby’s face burned. “I had to do something. I wasn’t just going to let that go past. It’s not… it wouldn’t be right.”

He was contemplating her, and she scuffed her shoe against the roof. She only did what a normal person would do. She just happened to be able to actually match the kidnappers.

“I’ll do it.”

Libby looked up, hardly believing it. “You will?”

“Yes. On one condition. I need to know everything you know about the Petrikov family.”

“What?”

“The Petrikov family. It’s a name that’s been floating around in some activity going on.”

“How do you know I know anything about them?” Libby asked, suspicion growing. What did he know about her, if he thought she knew anything about Val’s family?

“Do you want me to train you or not?” It was a simple question, not a challenge or threatening in any way.

Taking a deep breath through her nose and pressing her lips together, Libby glanced at the sky. It looked like she had no choice. “Fine. I’ll tell you what I know when we start training.”

He nodded curtly.  “Meet me at Fogwell’s Gym tomorrow  night,  nine o’clock. We start then.” He adjusted his gloves. “And tonight, don’t follow me. Go home.”

She nodded again. “Fine. And…thank you.”

He balanced on the edge of the roof, his attention captured by down on the street below that Libby couldn’t see. “You’re welcome, Libby.” He said. And then he was gone.   
Libby stayed there for a few minutes, her desire fighting against her new concern as she tried to remember when she had told him her name.


	9. Chapter 9

Fogwell’s Gym was dark and quiet when Libby approached it a few minutes before nine. For a moment, she was sure she had the wrong place, but then the manager stepped out. He had turned to lock the door when he noticed her, and held the door.

“Go on up,” he said. She nodded, her mouth dry, and slipped in the door.

The only light was coming from the street outside, but she could hear scuffing footsteps and the sound of fists on a punching bag. She kept as quiet as possible, still not sure who was waiting for her. Her hands brushed the walls, and she felt the dry leaves of old posters hanging on them. The punches stopped.

Daredevil was waiting for her in the dark by one of the bags. She recognized his silhouette even in the shadows.

“You really don’t have to stand all the way over there,”  he said.

“It’s a little dark. I’m here to train, not break a bone.”

She saw the ghost of his teeth as a smile flashed across his face. “Sorry, I forgot. I always tell them to leave the lights off.”

Libby found a switch on the wall and flipped it. A light flickered and burst into life.

The man standing in front of her was Daredevil – she recognized his stance, the way his head was slightly tucked in, the tension in his shoulders. But he wasn’t wearing the special suit she had seen him in before.  Instead as she stepped closer, she saw the lawyer, Matt Murdock, in sweats, his hands wrapped like a boxer, his dark glasses off.

“You’re Daredevil?”

“Yes. I am.” His mouth twitched, like he was holding back a smile and didn’t even realize it.

Libby crossed her arms. “You’re joking.”

“Joking? No. I’m not.”

“You’re blind.”

He grinned fully this time. His grin was bright, and made him look younger. “Yes. But sight isn’t the only way to…see. When I was nine, I was in an accident. The chemicals that took my eyesight gave me something else; it sharpened all of my other senses. I form images through sound, scent, touch. People have described it like echolocation or something similar.”

Libby saw a penny on the ground and reached for it, trying to keep him occupied. “No way.”

He caught the penny precisely, not even flinching as it sped towards his face. “Way.”

Libby couldn’t help it: she laughed. “So Daredevil, the vigilante every criminal in the city of New York is looking over their shoulders for, is a blind lawyer.”

“That’s me.”

“And that’s how you knew my name. You recognized me – well, my voice – from the law office the other day.”

He nodded. “Exactly. I figured you should know that you were working with me on two fronts.”

“Well then,” Libby shrugged off her sweatshirt. “Let’s get started then.” But she paused, her hoodie half way off her shoulders. “And this isn’t some elaborate hoax? Because haha, I fell for it then.” She started shrugging the hoodie back on.

Before she could recognize that he had moved, he had her arm twisted behind her back. She tried to throw him off, but his grip was good. “Or not such a joke,” she said, as he loosened his grip and she shook him off.

Murdock smiled again, moving behind a punching bag. “Good. Lesson one, then.”

“All right, uh-” Libby said, steadying the bag, but her tongue tripped. What did she call him? Mr. Murdock and Daredevil didn’t seem right.

He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Matt. Just call me Matt.”

“All right, Matt. What’s lesson one?”

He adjusted his hand wraps. “Lesson one: always get back up.”

It was a tough workout. Matt seemed to want to put her through her paces, but Libby was ecstatic. She held nothing back. Every punch, kick, and block he led her through was like electricity running through her veins. She could feel bruises forming on her arms, but she didn’t care. She didn’t have great form, but Matt was patient and meticulous; he had her form and reform positions, running his fingertips lightly over her arms and fists and legs, adjusting as needed. “Again,” he said more than anything else. And she jabbed, crossed, kicked. 

It was around midnight before he called an end. “That was excellent,” he said, handing her a water bottle.

A little out of breath, Libby didn’t say anything. But she grinned.

Just before she walked out the door, he called her name again, and she turned. “Yes?” she asked.

“I was wondering…if you were busy Friday night.”

“Not that I know of. Why?”

He was nervously fiddling with his hand wraps. “Would you like to go to dinner?”

“What, do you mean, like, a date? Or business again?” she blurted, mind whirling.

A quick half smile flashed across his face. “Less…business related, yes. Which would probably mean a date.”

Libby gave a half laugh. “All right, then.” She headed for the exit again, but turned suddenly. “If you’re going to take me out, you’re going to call me Libby then.”

He chuckled. “All right, Libby. Until Friday.”


	10. Chapter 10

On Friday night, Libby stared at herself in the mirror.

She wished Val were there. At university, whenever Libby had gone on an infrequent date, Val had come over to Gramps’ place to help her get ready. There was something oddly comforting about your best friend joking that if the guy turned out to be a serial killer, you could take him down.

She was wearing a simple navy blue dress made of a satiny kind of material. Classy, but not too fancy. A single pearl hung from a delicate silver chain around her neck, and her hair was pulled half back.

“A date,” she muttered to herself, turning to see how her hair looked from the side. “At least he’s not a serial killer, Val. I’m pretty sure.” To be sure, he was a vigilante known as “the devil of Hell’s Kitchen,” so maybe that wasn’t much better.

The knock on her door made her jump. She took one last nervous look at her hair and went to answer the door.

Matt looked nice, with a dark maroon sweater over what looked like his normal white button down and black tie. He looked charming, if slightly unused to the way the sweater fit. Libby smiled.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hello,” he answered, that half smile flitting across his face.

They stood there for a moment, both a little awkward. Libby scuffed her toe on the carpet, which seemed to wake him up.

“Sorry, um…should we go?”

“Oh, yes, sure. Let me just lock the door.”

She grabbed her coat and locked her door, fumbling a little with the key. He offered his arm, an old fashioned gesture that she thought was sweet. Also, practical; they could stay together more, and she could help him avoid obstacles. She looped her arm through his, and they headed off.

“Did you realize I live just a couple doors down from you?” he asked good naturedly.

“Really?”

“Six-A. Funny how we’ve never run into each other before.”

They had reached the outside of the building, and Libby couldn’t quite find anything to say. She suddenly blurted “The sweater looks nice.”

“Thank you. It was Karen’s idea.”

Oh. “I see. Um, are you and Karen close?” _Wow, the wording of that sounded far too jealous, Libby._

“Oh, well, she and Foggy and I work together, so all three of us spend a lot of time. She’s a good friend.”

Feeling distinctly awkward for bringing up the subject, Libby didn’t know what to answer. Luckily, Matt had a relevant question.   
“How do you feel about walking? We can get a cab if you’d rather not.”

“I like walking, and I feel like I haven’t seen enough of the city by foot since I got here. I kind of just go to the same places every day.”

He laughed, a small laugh that said he understood. “I think everyone who actually lives in New York does the same. All right then, walking it is. We’re headed to 45th Street.”

The air outside was cold and the sun was setting behind the buildings, but it was a lovely kind of evening, with the smell of fall fighting over the smell of the city and almost winning.

They walked down the streets as twilight settled. They skirted the traffic of Times Square, and finally made it to their destination, a kind of closeted pub that seemed to come right out of the London streets Libby knew so well.

“It’s a real pub!” she said, admiring the dark wood paneling and the creaking sign.

“I figured you might like something a little familiar. It’s supposed to be as authentic as it gets, at least in New York. I mean, if you…”

But Libby led the way in. Everything about the place felt cozy. Libby looked fondly at the dim lights, the dark paneling, and the small niches crammed with tables.

“Gramps and I used to go to places like this,” she said. “There’s something about a pub that just makes you feel comfortable.”

Matt smiled. “I’ve never really been to one. It’s nice; quieter than the bars around here.”

The waiter approached their table and handed them menus, though he hesitated with Matt. “Thank you,” Matt said softly, as if nothing was wrong. The waiter left.

“What looks good?” Matt asked Libby, his hands running over the laminated menu.

Libby scanned the menu, her stomach rumbling at the names of familiar foods. “There’s tikka masala,” she said.

“Mm, food that’s too spicy kind of…sets my senses off, not in a good way. I usually avoid Indian food.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess that makes sense. Uh, fish and chips…various pies…bangers and mash…”

“What was that?” Matt laughed.

“Bangers and mash? It’s sausage and…potatoes…it’s a normal thing…it comes with carrots?” Libby replied.

Matt was still laughing slightly. “Okay, I’ll take your word for it. Drinks?”

“Oh, just water for me. Alcohol doesn’t really…do anything for me.”

His voice was curious. “What do you mean?”

“My metabolism is too fast. All I get is the nasty taste.”

He looked thoughtful. “Interesting. I wonder why that is?”

“Dad thought it was part of the, uh, curse. He said he only minded at uni, when his mates would go out to the pub, but not when they came home and made fools of themselves.”

“Curse?”

Libby mentally kicked herself. Normal people didn’t have curses. Not even enhanced people had curses.

But she had to explain. “I guess you would call it…my abilities. My dad always saw it as a curse though. It’s…well…” she glanced around her, but no one was paying attention to them. “What do you know about….supersoldier genes?”

“You mean, Captain America?”

“Something like.” She explained a crash course in her family history.

When she was finished, his eyebrows had peaked over his glasses. “Well, that explains a lot.”

“A lot of trouble, yeah.”

Matt laughed. But he didn’t seem freaked out, or, refreshingly, even overly curious or like he wanted to pester her with questions.

_Okay, this is going well_ , Libby found herself thinking as they ordered (she got the fish and chips, and he went with the bangers and mash, mouth twitching as he ordered) and continued to chat while waiting for their food. Matt was easy to talk to, and he had a particular way of making her laugh; not crazy raucous laughter, but comfortable laughter, the kind that sounds like music, and he had a laugh like that too. To top it all off, the food was delicious. They even got dessert (the best sticky toffee pudding Libby had had in months).

The sky was fully dark when they left the restaurant, but on the main streets it was nearly as bright as daylight. The chill in the air made Libby shiver, and she pulled in closer to Matt’s arm. Despite the cold, the only feeling Libby could think of was happy, simply soft smiling happy.

They finally reached Libby’s door, and Matt smiled. “I guess we’ve made it where I leave you then.”

Libby smiled too, scuffing a toe against the floor. “Yep, this is me.”

He gave her that feeling again that he was contemplating her. “This was a wonderful evening, thank you.”

“It really was! I should be the one thanking you.”

There was something unfinished in the air, and they stood there for a moment, until he finally spoke. “Would you like to maybe…do this again next week?”

“Yes. Yes, I’d really like that.”

“All right then. Next week it is.”

It was getting late, and the anticipation was already beginning. “Until next week then. Unless…do you mind if we have another lesson sooner?”

He looked a little surprised, but he answered, “Of course. Next Thursday?”

“Perfect. See you then.”

She closed her door and slid down the wall, grinning.

* * *

 

After two weeks of lessons, Libby understood the reasoning behind lesson one.

As she made her way up the subway stairs in Brooklyn, she looked down with satisfaction at last night’s bruise, blue and black on her arm. Matt was a tough teacher, but he was also patient. He would explain exactly where she went wrong with every punch, kick, and fall. Sometimes, she couldn’t believe he was really blind. When she brought it up, he laughed and assured her he was. But after that, he had started to teach her to sense the way he did. Last night, finally, she had knocked him down.   
“You’re doing really well,” he said, panting slightly as he lay on his back.

“I’ve had a good teacher,” she replied, grinning as she straddled him. She leapt to her feet and offered a hand to help him up. Their fingers lingered longer than they should have.

They had gone on a few more dates, and just like the first, everything with Matt felt so natural and easy. Two nights ago they had gone to a concert and then for coffee after. His appreciation for music was endearing, and she felt like she had smiled nonstop all night.

The jostling of the crowd pushed the memory out of her mind as she neared Steve’s apartment.

He opened the door with his usual grin. “Hey, Lib.”

“Hey, Steve.”

He opened the door wider for her to walk in. He had been sketching; pencils lay across the coffee table, and a few pieces of torn paper were crumbled on the floor.  This wasn’t unusual; he often at up at night, sketching. Libby understood the insomnia, the restlessness. It also wasn’t the first time she had seen the place like this.

“New project?” she asked, surveying the scene.

Steve smiled softly. “Maybe. Memories, mostly. It helps to process things. Makes me feel like I haven’t forgotten as much as I think I have.”

Libby flipped through the pages of the sketchbook. There was a drawing of the apartment they were sitting in; one of a group of fatigued soldiers coming over a hill; the Avengers, spread throughout trees, a team waiting to spring into action. “They’re good,” she said, continuing to study them. It wasn’t a proper compliment; it didn’t capture just how awed she felt by them.

She stopped when she came to two side by side: the first was of two boys, probably around eleven or twelve, licking ice cream as they walked down a Brooklyn street; the second was of Libby and Steve, also eating ice cream and walking down today’s Brooklyn street. Libby smiled. “You and Bucky?”

“Yep,” he said. “And us. Remember that day? I hadn’t been down there since I was a kid. It’s changed a lot.”

“A lot of things have changed,” Libby said. “Even for me. But we make it through. There’s a lot of good too.”

“Like going on dates?”

Libby stared. Steve’s eyes were laughing.

“How did you know?” she asked, feeling her face go hot.

He actually laughed. “You’re not the only one who likes to go out to dinner on Friday nights, Lib. I saw you outside Carnegie Hall a couple of nights ago. I didn’t want to…interrupt.” The laugh lines around his eyes were crinkled to their fullest extent.

Libby groaned as she dropped first her coat and then herself on the couch. “Great. Well, let’s do this fast: his name is Matt, he’s a lawyer, he’s really nice. Anything else you need?”

Steve was frowning at her arm, where her bruise was obviously green and yellow. “What happened?”

Tugging her sweater sleeve down, Libby tried to sound nonchalant. “It’s nothing. Matt’s been teaching me how to box. His dad was a boxer.”

“You’re learning how to box?” Steve looked suspicious, the laughter draining from his eyes.

“You’re the one who told me I needed to know how to use my skills.”

He studied her, sitting in the chair across from her. “What aren’t you telling me, Libby?”

She avoided his eyes. “Nothing.”

He sat forward. “Libby. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

She locked eyes with him, and knew it was a mistake; you couldn’t say no to Steve Rogers’ bright blue eyes.

“You’ve heard about the kidnappings in the city?”

He didn’t say anything, so she went on. It made Libby nervous, but she also didn’t want to stop either. It was too big, too important, to keep from him anymore. “I saw one happening the other day. I jumped in. The guy that I helped catch was the first clue to all these disappearances the police had. I’m a part of this now; I’ve got to help finish it.”

“So you’ve been training to save people?”

She sighed. “I’m taking responsibility. I wonder who told me that.”

Steve frowned. “How is that any different than joining the Avengers team?”

Libby sat up. “It’s completely different. I’m not trying to be a superhero. I’m just trying to stop people from getting hurt.”

“That’s exactly what we do! But with a team, you’d be better trained, you’d have better backup…Libby, this is where you should be!”

“I’m not going to be a hero, Steve. Heroes get turned into weapons. Look what happened to you; you thought you were working for the good guys, but SHIELD turned out to be HYDRA.”

She knew she had hit a nerve by the shocked look on his face. “Not all the time,” he said softly. “We were still trying to do the right thing.”

“They all get used in the end. It’s that simple.”

“Do you really think that? Even about me, Libby?” Steve asked.

_Do you really think that?_

Dad had always said that that was the inevitable fate of superheroes. At some time or another, they would be used as weapons by someone. Made into object used by other to gain control. No longer themselves. Everything that she had seen before told her that would happen. Natasha, Steve, every other superhero. Tricked, lied to, told they were doing the right thing when there was really a secret agenda. But she also knew that Steve wouldn’t willingly let that happen; he and Natasha had taken down SHIELD because it had been infected with HYDRA. They had given everything to take down the people that tried to control them, even if they were supposed to be authority.

“I don’t know, Steve. I don’t know. I just…I’m not a weapon, Steve. I’m not a warrior.”

He looked down at his clasped hands, and suddenly, she felt like she shouldn’t be there anymore. “I should probably go,” she said quietly.

“There are layers to everything, including superheroes,” Steve said as she walked out the door. “Anyone who tries to tell you differently is telling you a story. Everything is complicated, and hardly anything is black and white. It used to be more like that.” His voice dropped slightly. “Or at least, I thought it was.” Libby had no response.


End file.
